


His Lover's Face

by Bearslayer



Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: Angst, Canon alteration, It's basically one big 3b rewrite from Victors perspective, M/M, Major canon alteration, Mention of Death, Pining, Victor becomes a dad to two teenagers, Violence, identity crisis, mention of suicide
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-08
Updated: 2017-11-08
Packaged: 2018-11-29 13:34:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 14
Words: 38,194
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11441967
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bearslayer/pseuds/Bearslayer
Summary: When a familiar face shows up in Victor's life, his world is turned on its side for a second time.





	1. His Frozen Memories

**Author's Note:**

  * For [mymycorrhizae](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mymycorrhizae/gifts).



> Hi all!
> 
> This work will be updated as frequently as I'm able. I don't expect it to be longer than 6 chapters. 
> 
> If you enjoy it, please leave me a comment or send me a message. It really helps to keep me motivated to write! Also, feel free to subscribe to the story to be notified when I update. <3
> 
> Future chapters will be longer.

“We'll make it through this. You just have to have hope, Victor. I love you.”

The words still rang in his ears, twisting into his still raw nerves every time they drifted to the surface through the lonely fog of his memory. Gentle encouragements from the most tender soul he had ever had the good fortune of knowing, and the greater misfortune of losing.

“We'll make it through this, Victor. I know we will.”

Words that fell from lips that held back a gravelly cough. Lips that smiled through immeasurable pain, always more worried about Victor's heart then their own failing body. Victor still couldn't hear a stranger coughing without flinching.

“We'll make it through this. I know you won't give up hope, Victor, so I won't either.”

It felt like a lie when he promised that he would never give up hope. He was always so weak, so quick to fearful worry. It was easy to expect the worst when the universe had such a consistent habit of making the worst a reality.

“I love you, Victor. No matter what happens, please remember that.”

There were times when he wished he had never met the one he loved. Sometimes, when the end was drawing near, he wished that he had stayed a solitary, bookish man who took more comfort in machinery and formulae than anything else. At least then he would still be human.

“Everything will be okay, Victor. Please don't worry. I know you're scared, and I am too. We'll make it through this.”

The saying went that it was better to have loved and lost then to never have loved at all, but did it still hold true when that love turns you into a monster? The truth was, Victor would have taken down the entire city, frozen each and every soul there if it brought back his love. Even if it meant they never spoke to him again.

“You'll make it through this, Victor. I know you will. Always remember how much I love you, okay?”

He remembered the day that “we” turned into “you”, the day that the light began to fade from those deep, beautiful eyes he so adored. It's said that one who is at the cusp of death can feel its presence, that they know when they'll go. It's said that some can take comfort in the certainty of it, and that all fear dissolves. But all that Victor felt when he tried to follow them to the other side was the crushing weight of a life alone threatening to swallow him up, should he fail.

“Victor - please don't blame yourself.”

He should have checked the cartridges. He should have known that the guilt of what he had done to save them would be unbearable, that they would blame themselves. It was Victor's frantic, terrified insistence that he could make his lover better someday that had killed them. Unyielding grief strangled him every waking moment, and when he slept, guilt ruled his nightmares.

In his dreams, he saw his Norman's frozen face, beautiful and broken, a fractured reminder of all he had lost.

But when he saw his husband's face on television, pale and unbroken skin framed by jet black hair rather than wheat blond, he was painfully aware that he was awake.

 


	2. His Hasty Decision

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The sight of Oswald on his television screen causes Victor to make a split-second decision.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm glad to see people are enjoying this so far! This chapter isn't as flowery and feelsy as the first, but it's in the interest of the story, promise. <3
> 
> Please comment if you're enjoying this, it means the world to me!

Oswald Cobblepot.

Victor ran the name through his mind over and over, frantic at the sight of the face he loved spewing such vitriol towards the 'freaks' created at Indian Hill. Norman would have never spoken in such a way; he would have tried to understand them, accepting their differences. Had Strange done this to torment him? First binding Victor to life, then forcing him to see his husband's visage on the violently angry little man who ran for mayor?

He slammed a fist on his table and shoved the contents of his desktop to the floor. He wasn't able to hold in his anger, his confusion; why was this happening? Had he not suffered enough? He had heard of Oswald before, of course, being a long time Gotham resident. But had he always looked like that? How was it possible that he could look so similar to Norman and neither of them ever knew? Norman had no siblings, and little in the way of relatives to begin with. Perhaps they had been separated young.

But twins? Who would separate twins, if that's what Oswald and Norman were? Victor's head rang, his vision blurring as tears began to stream down pale blue cheeks. They froze along the curve of his cheekbones, and he brushed at them pointlessly with the back of a hand. The sight of his lost love moving, living, but so different in manner reopened a wound that hadn't yet had enough time to fully heal.

Everyone had heard the stories about Oswald, had seen the fallout from his dealings with the underworld. None of that had ever mattered to him, though. Norman was normally safe at home or visiting his ailing mother, and Victor was always too involved with his work and husband to care about local events. He couldn't remember the last time he read the paper, so it wasn't _entirely_  surprising that this was his first time seeing the conniving kingpin's face.

Norman never paid much attention to such matters either. The news was too depressing for him, so he preferred to read books instead. At least then he was assured a happy ending, so unlike in the real world. Victor watched the screen as Oswald spoke, becoming fixated within seconds as he moved towards the television stand. The pain in his chest was sharp and terrible as he looked into the man's eyes. Pale and green. If he stood close to him, Victor was sure he would see shades of copper and gold around the pupils. He was sure that those eyes were most radiant in the moonlight, or in the early morning when the sun was just rising.

He wondered if Oswald was as clumsy and dazed in the mornings as Norman was. If he never truly woke up until midday, and even then only truly came to life once the sun was beginning to set. He wondered if he was anything like Norman at all, or if the comparison was just some far off fantasy that Victor was dreaming up in order to convince himself that all wasn't lost.

No.

Of course not. Oswald and Norman were different people, and Norman was dead. His husband was dead, and Oswald was not, and it was wrong for him to even give wonder at how similar they could be. They were two separate people, two entirely different human beings. No one could replace Norman, even if they shared his features. Victor's pain would not end so easily, not when he himself had been the one to cause it. As Oswald concluded his speech, though, Victor found himself struck by the sight of his smile as he raised his hands into the air to encourage cheers. He was so handsome; Victor forced himself to look away, one hand resting on the screen as he did.

Moving back to his desk, he began to pick up the things he had thrown aside in an effort to distract himself from his warring thoughts. One part of him ached to go and find Oswald, to demand answers; did he know about Norman? Why had he never shown himself if he did? Norman had always wanted a big family, something Victor had wanted to give him before both of their lives went to hell. His mother was half-senile, his father passed years before from cancer, and any extended family lived too far for him to have any sort of connection to. To have a brother so close that whole time but to be unaware of it was simply tragic. It wasn't terribly likely that Oswald knew, either. A scheming criminal with an identical brother would likely want to try and use that brother to his advantage. The thought made Victor's skin crawl.

The other part of Victor wanted to flee, to pretend he had never caught sight of the man who wore his husband's face, to seclude himself as punishment for daring to even speculate. He suddenly wanted to isolate himself somewhere quiet where he could continue his research in peace. He could lose himself in it the way he used to before he was married, while honoring Norman's memory by not humoring his own idiotic flights of fancy. He preferred the comfort that science and experimentation brought him. With science, anything was possible; it was just finding the correct sequences, the right methods to achieve a goal that proved difficult.

Oswald meant nothing to him. He was a stranger, despite his familiar face.

Between the campaign to rid Gotham of monsters like him and Hugo's penchant for using Victor to his own ends, there was no place for him there any longer. He needed to take back control of his own life, and a split second decision had him packing supplies into a bag, concocting a plan that would get him out of Gotham.

Free of Strange, he could work on a cure for the curse that had rendered him the sort of creature that Gotham wanted to burn. There was an abandoned laboratory he knew of where he could work uninterrupted. He would leave during the night and stow himself in a long haul truck headed to Canada. An industrious, sensible man, Victor had made secretly fashioned himself a makeshift suit based on the design of the exo-suit that had since been taken away. A good scientist always had a backup plan for his first inevitable failures. The suit was lighter, more practical for easy travel, but wouldn't hold up long. Should it fail before he reached his destination, he would at least be far enough North that the weather could sustain him. Given time and peace, removed from the mirror image man with the eyes that would surely haunt him, Victor could find a way to reverse his condition.

Maybe, just maybe, curing himself would help him atone for his many transgressions.

And perhaps the next time death came for him he could smile, knowing that he could finally go where Norman had gone.

The place he couldn't follow his beloved the first time he tried.

 


	3. His Fortress

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Victor's peace is interrupted.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading up til now!
> 
> As always, please comment if you're enjoying this. <3

Seclusion proved somewhat therapeutic for Victor. Given time away from the crushing enormity of Gotham and the peace that only solitude could provide, he felt he had begun to heal. He rarely thought of Norman's strange doppelganger, with his vicious words and a face so crushingly familiar. He chose instead to focus on his research and keep a journal to vent his pent up emotions. It was a habit Norman had instilled in him ages ago, encouraging him to write things out if he wouldn't talk to him about them.

Now, he used it to speak to Norman, to let the words pour from his pen the way his mouth wouldn't allow. Sometimes it was hastily scribbled messages filled with sorrows or worries, sometimes silly little musings that he felt the need to write out.

“ _Norman;_

_I took you for granted. I never thought that there would be a time where I wasn't able to hold you when I wanted. Now that I'm alone, I miss it more than ever. I regret ever shying away from you when the nights were too warm. I would stand on the surface of the sun if it meant I could sleep at your side again, even for just a night.”_

“ _Norman;_

_I was thinking about the idea of the supernatural today. Ghosts and spirits. I hate the idea of someone being stuck on this miserable planet after they die. I hate the idea that you might be trapped here because of the nature of your... passing. I hope wherever you are, you're at peace, waiting for me to join you.”_

“ _Norman;_

_I found some books left here by the researchers that eventually ditched the entire operation... One of them reminded me of you. It's about a fairy who falls in love with a man who was cursed to live as a wolf. It seems like the sort of ridiculous book I would catch you guilt-reading tucked away in the bay window in your little blanket nest... I think I'll start reading it tonight.”_

The notebook filled up as the days turned to weeks, and the weeks to months tucked away in the laboratory. It was built to house ten, but the emptiness of the place felt mostly comfortable to him. He made no real progress in reversing his condition during his time there, doing easily over a hundred experiments over the course of the months. Not every one of them was relevant to the reversal of his condition; at points he built new weapons despite having no intention of ever returning to a place where he would need them.

An unfortunate truth began to dawn on him, though, the longer he stayed. Eventually he would run out of usable supplies and be no closer to an answer than before. The thought of another failure weighed heavily on him, but he pushed through it. Norman would never want him to give up, not at something as important as curing himself. He would tell him to keep hoping, to keep working, forever confident of his husbands abilities. Victor tried not to think of how he had failed him so utterly. He knew that he was forgiven.

Just as Victor was considering leaving his new sanctuary to find supplies elsewhere, somehow, he heard a noise in the front of the facility. There were many noises his frozen lab made; the howling of wind outside, the crackling of ice in the pipes and on the walls inside, the rumbling of the generators down below, the music he played when the rare times the silence became too much to bear. None of those familiar sounds matched up with the one he heard then.

Whispered voices.

Either he had truly gone mad, or someone was there.

Hefting the block of ice he had carved out on to his shoulder, he moved towards the front. Who could possibly be there? The place was abandoned over a decade ago; only Victor and a select few knew about it... Though he had mentioned it to Strange before. Silently damning himself for bothering to speak to anyone, ever, he stopped in his tracks.

Staring, he chucked the ice to the floor, stoic for a moment as the pair of intruders gasped and turned to face him.

It took less than a heartbeat for his throat to close, gripped by emotion so intense that he could practically taste its bitterness on his tongue.

“Mister Fries,” Oswald said as he moved towards him, “Welcome home.”

Home.

Home?

Oswald's face was home, but his limp was bizarre, alien to Victor. His eyes were familiar and brilliant as they glittered in even the small, faint light of the lab, but the hair that poked out from under his hat was too dark. His cheekbones were high and perfect, but his nose was crooked from having been broken more than once. Everything was right about his entire form, but so completely wrong at the same time. It was the specter of his husband, twisted and strange. He reached out a hand and gripped Oswald's face, teeth gritting. The small man backed into a cooler, trembling, instantly fearful.

“I see you still hold me responsible for all of that awful monster rhetoric I spewed during my campaign--” Oswald began to ramble. He was obviously a man used to talking his way out of situations like the one he found himself in... Victor's grip loosened, but he pushed him against the cooler.

“Why are you here?” He spat. He thought he had gotten away from him, away from that horrible visage. He thought he wouldn't be found; not by Strange, not by the GCPD, and absolutely not by the replica that stood before him. The defective clone who stirred up buried thoughts of better things, of a life worth living and not just surviving. Thoughts that he had smothered in order to protect himself.

“Y-your experiments, Mister Fries... you're trying to reverse your condition. I can help you!” Oswald pleaded, body tense but submissive as Victor held the ice ax to his neck, tip pressed against his pulse point. Heat poured off of Oswald's body; he could practically hear his heart pounding in his chest, a frightened rabbit under the paw of a terrifying wolf. He didn't care. He didn't care that it was Norman's eyes he looked into, that it was Norman's mouth that begged without begging to avoid pain. Anger trumped grief in that moment. How dare he come to Victor, how dare he disturb him when he was just beginning to forget his pain? Would he never be free?

“Why would you do that?” Victor growled harshly.

“My enemies took everything from me! Tried to murder me... You help me get my revenge and when I take back my throne I will give you _every_ resource you need to free yourself from this icy prison!” The sudden fire that appeared in Oswald's eyes spoke measures about who exactly he was in that moment. He was bargaining, calculating, cunning. There was a terrible strength in the tiny man, a confidence and fervor that was so unlike his Norman.

Victor's rage and pain began to melt from his body. Pulling away from Oswald, he moved to collect his ice, setting the ax aside. This couldn't be some bizarre conspiracy to torture him; Oswald was too starkly different from his late husband in manner. He wasn't at all convincing as a clone, and even some resurrection scheme wouldn't have set in that unique a character. No, Oswald was a man of his own making. Quietly, Victor began to walk away from him, looking at his shelves to pretend he wasn't contemplating the offer.

“... Well?” Oswald said after a few moments of silence.

“I can't help you. My body can't survive above certain temperatures.” He said flippantly. Though his mood had shifted and he was no longer overwhelmed with emotions, he still didn't want Oswald and the girl there. He wanted to be alone, not that he was currently being given much choice in the matter.

“Oh, that? We already thought of that. Ivy?” Oswald had moved close, making sure that Victor would see his face. With a sigh of resignation, Victor turned to see what Oswald saw. His eyes widened as she opened the case they had brought with them.

“Ta da!” Ivy said, flourishing her hands to frame the contents.

His suit. It was odd to him that the sight of it brought with it such relief. Was it because of what the suit represented? With his suit, he was free to move at will, no longer a slave to the thermometer. And his freeze ray with it was a symbol of the power he could still retain... That he could still have some control over his life despite the ever-looming shadow of his own failures. He had options with his suit, and the two of them bringing it to him was the extension of an olive branch and promise of a partnership.

“So, what do you say?” Oswald asked, standing at his side.

He could do a number of things at that point. He could take the suit and kill them both, but then he would never get the answers about Oswald that he craved so deeply. He could promise a partnership and go with them, but betray them to avoid going back to Gotham, the epicenter of his trauma; but where would he go? Gotham was the only home he had ever known, even for all its horrors. He could turn them away, tell them to take the suit and gun and leave, but he would still be trapped there without adequate supplies and no way to safely get more... Only one option truly made sense. Only one option would give him the answers he needed, and the cure that he had yet to discover.

“Fine.” Victor said, and moved to collect his suit.

“He's a talkative one, huh?” Ivy giggled, nudging the short man.

“Be quiet, Ivy. Not everyone likes to talk.” Oswald returned, rolling his eyes in a way that was nothing short of tremendously dramatic.

The return trip to Gotham was going to be a long one.     

 


	4. His Hesitation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Back in Gotham, Victor and Oswald speak for the first time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, please comment if you're enjoying this. <3

Gotham loomed in the distance, the skyline shrouded in thick clouds. It gave the impression that the buildings had no end, stretching endlessly towards space. It was an ominous sight from across the river where the three were, tucked away in the van Dahl manor. Victor still found himself practically mute, a deep and confusing miasma of emotion roiling in his gut each time he looked at Oswald. He couldn't speak to him, he could barely even be _around_ him without becoming overwhelmed.

But Victor watched him all the time. He was barely aware that he did it, and thankfully Ivy and Oswald were too busy either bickering or giggling to notice the way he stared. It was uncanny, but Oswald actually shared some mannerisms with Norman. When annoyed or anxious, his hands would fidget and flex. He paced when upset, like his husband would before the illness rendered him too weak to do so. And when he smiled, he did so with his entire face, unable to hide his joy on the rare occasion he allowed himself to feel it.

It was simultaneously beguiling and horrifying to Victor, who still kept a locket with Norman's picture in it at hand's reach at all times. He was thankful that Oswald was entirely focused on his revenge plans. The concept of revenge was so beyond anything that Norman would have done that it made it a little easier to keep the two separate in his heart. Though Norman did fixate on things now and again, it was always innocent, some activity or concept. One summer he insisted that a rooftop garden was something he had always wanted after reading about how to set one up in a magazine, for instance, and devoted the entire summer into early fall cultivating it.

He would have loved Ivy for her love of plants.

Watching Gotham from the window, Victor breathed out a sigh, his breath instantly fogging the glass.

“You're up late.” A voice came from behind. Victor gave a start, turning to look at the man.

Oswald. He tried to hold down his panic; Ivy wasn't there to act as a buffer and hold his attention. He kept his lips tight, nodding in acknowledgment. Oswald's brow raised slightly. He was wearing pajamas, feet bare against the cool floor. In his hand was a tumbler of dark liquor, the smell of which was strong and enticing. Victor hadn't drank in ages.

“You know, at some point you're going to have to learn how to hold a conversation. If we're going to work together I'd like to at least get to know you a bit better.” Oswald said, absently swirling the liquid in his glass.

“I don't want to get to know you.” Victor's words came out more abruptly and curt then he intended.

“Well, that's a bit rude.” Oswald's brows knitted closer together.

“I'm sorry,” Victor tore his eyes from his face, looking out the window again to avoid gazing too long into his eyes, “That came out more harsh than I meant.”

“Oh, you only meant it a little harsh then?” Oswald scoffed, leaning against the wall beside the window. Victor found himself thankful that it was a cloudy night. The thought of the moonlight against Oswald's soft alabaster skin was too much to bear.

“No – I... I didn't mean for it to be harsh at all. I know we got off to a rough start. I would just prefer to keep my distance.” Victor mumbled. For all his strength and imposing figure, he was unable to shut Oswald down in any way. He fumbled with his words at Oswald's self-assured air, at the confidence he carried himself with. It was a far cry from the gentle, almost demure nature of his Norman.

“It's just the three of us right now. You're going to have to get used to some closeness. I need to know I can trust you.” Oswald spoke more softly now, eyes on his drink.

“I won't betray you. I just want to be cured.” Victor's tone mirrored Oswald's. Though he had no intention of betraying the small man and leaving the two behind, his words felt empty when spoken aside his second statement. A cure for his condition. He didn't even know what he would do once he was cured.

“Well, we'll see about that first bit. I've heard that before.” Oswald sipped the liquor, closing his eyes at the burn in his throat as he swallowed.

“I won't. I can't even – please, just trust me. I need to be cured.” He struggled to voice his thoughts because it was nearly impossible to keep them collected with Oswald in such close proximity. This close, he could see the smattering of freckles that dusted his cheeks and nose. Norman had those too, but the pattern was a little different. Victor used to touch his fingers to each one when Norman was upset because it always made him laugh and forget his troubles.

“I won't trust you. I don't think I'm able to trust anymore.” Oswald said, one shoulder shrugging as if the statement was simple fact rather than alarmingly sad. Victor watched the man whose eyes remained closed.

“You don't, and won't trust me, but your eyes are closed. I could kill you easily right now and your reaction time wouldn't be enough to stop me.” Victor wasn't threatening; only making an observation. He was in a strange frame of mind.

The sight of Oswald's face no longer caused him boundless anger or heart rending grief, but the situation was still infinitely confusing. And now, this first time really speaking to him, he was bouncing back and forth between stumbling on his words and morbid quips. But Oswald chuckled softly and rendered Victor temporarily mute again at the noise. It was a sound like a breeze through wind chimes, musical and light. On his lips was a smile that accentuated the dimples of his cheeks, and with his eyes closed in his laughter his laughlines were apparent. The urge to reach out and cup his cheek in hand was palpable and frightening.

“Why are you laughing?” Victor mumbled, tearing his eyes from that beautiful face.

“It's a calculated risk, having my eyes closed. Every move I make is a calculated risk. I believe that you won't try to kill me because helping me benefits you. You want your cure, I want my revenge. You can't get your supplies until I'm back in power, and if you kill me your chances of getting cured in the next decade are slim, if not nonexistent. But feel free to prove me wrong. Snap my neck. Or don't. I'm tired and a little drunk.” Oswald said it with the barest hint of bitterness, bringing the liquor back to his lips and downing the rest in one go.

“I – you're right. I was just... making an observation. I won't betray you. I need you.” He muttered softly, staring out the window.

Oswald fell silent for a moment, eyes opening and looking to Victor. He only knew this from the faint reflection in the glass. There was pain in Oswald's eyes as he stared at the taller man, knuckles going white as he clenched his tumbler.

“You need me. And when I'm no longer useful to you?” There was an ache in Oswald's voice that told a story. The story was of betrayal, of loss, of pain that settled in the recesses of the soul and festered there. Though Oswald hadn't told him the story of what had happened between him and his former Chief-in-Staff, Ivy had given him some details over the days since they had become a trio. He knew that Oswald had loved the man who called himself Riddler, and that he had ended up at the bottom of the river for his troubles.

“This partnership is a two way street, Oswald. You need me too. I'm going to help you.” Victor offered lamely, wanting to mend the pain he felt in Oswald. He would count out his freckles with his fingers if he wasn't sure that Oswald would shun him for it.

“All I can do is take your word.” Oswald watched his face with such intensity that he had to force himself to look away, eyes up towards the gray sky.

“I'll do what I can to keep it. I...” Victor lowered his eyes.

“Victor?” Oswald said, watching still.

“Yes?” Victor replied.

“Why do you stare at me until I look your way?” Oswald asked.

The question, unexpected given the pace of the conversation, instantly seated itself firmly in his chest. The answer trapped itself in his throat, seeding anxiety into his being. Oswald had caught him gazing at him, apparently, enough times that it had become a question in the small man's mind. Victor damned himself for being so obvious, and damned himself a second time for not expecting Oswald to notice. He was as astute as rumored. Just like Norman was, before the illness that had taken him away.

“I – you.. remind me of someone.” Victor nearly choked on his words, moving away from the window and stepping away. He couldn't have that conversation, not then – maybe not ever.

“Who?” Oswald asked, stepping with him.

“I'm going to bed.” Victor told him abruptly, desperate to avoid speaking his name aloud. To speak of Norman would invite questions, and the answers he thought he sought. The idea was suddenly inexplicably terrifying, and he was stopped up at the thought of knowing. He didn't even know how he would react if he found out something bizarre. His own unpredictable emotions made the situation all the more delicate.

Not to mention that the idea of informing someone that they remind him of his dead husband made Victor cringe internally.

“Wait. You don't have to tell me who it is. It's okay, I don't need to know.” Oswald reached out to take hold of his arm as he turned to walk away. The reaction was unexpected, almost as abrupt as Victor's decision to end the conversation. He made no move to jerk his arm away, looking back at the small man, an unspoken question written in his features.

“I'm just a bit worried you'll never converse with me again if I let you go now.” Oswald chuckled. The chuckle was empty, though, an attempt to save face by making the comment seem like it was a joke rather than a serious statement. There was a vulnerability in Oswald at that moment that stirred something loose that Victor had been trying desperately to bury. He wanted to soothe his worries, to hold and console him. He wanted to protect Oswald from whatever hurt him.

“I promise I'll speak to you more... Let's... have lunch together, tomorrow?” Victor felt timid, suddenly, visions of a younger version of himself trying to work up the courage to speak to his pale haired angel rushing to mind. He had been terrified of him, of his beauty, of his intelligence, of the warmth of his smile. It ended up that Norman was the one to not only approach him, but to ask him out, gentle yet bold.

Oswald looked up at him, eyes a touch wider than usual.

“... Very well.” He said, and let his hand drop from his arm.

“I'll see you then.” Victor said, and left before his memories rendered him inconsolable.


	5. His Long Awaited Answers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Victor and Oswald sit down for lunch together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading, as always. This chapter is a fair amount longer than the others, so I hope you like it. <3

What little sleep Victor managed to get was short and fitful, never longer than an hour at a time. He would sleep a while, wake for some time, sleep a while, and could never quite get comfortable. It was impossible to dull his mind enough to truly rest, to quell his racing thoughts. Meeting with Oswald for lunch had sent his mind into a frenzy of hypotheticals. What would the small man say when he finally spoke of Norman? Would he know anything? Would he be angry? Upset? Would he assume that Victor was fishing for something from him?

When morning came, he went out into the kitchen. He thought that preparing a meal might help to clear his mind, and that perhaps Oswald would appreciate the effort. Due to the nature of his 'condition', Victor was both unable to and didn't need to eat. He had not yet begun to understand the reasons for it, nor the reason he was still able to walk and talk while his organs were presumably frozen, in perpetual stasis from the cryogenic formula overdose. It was a side effect that was both convenient and maddening. He didn't need to think about food while in the laboratory, which was a blessing given the remote location and lack of available resources... but it also took away the pleasure of consuming.

It was another joy he had always taken for granted. He had always joked with Norman that eating took up too much time, and that if he could cut it out of his life he would. Now that he was unable to, though, his thoughts were often plagued with the memories of taste. The bitterness and aftertaste of a nice, strong cup of coffee. The creamy sweetness of ice cream. The savory umami of a perfectly cooked steak... It was all lost to him, like so many of life's pleasures. Victor gave a sigh. At least there were no hunger pains accompanying his inability to eat.

He could at least prepare something for Oswald, and hope it held some joy.

The fridge and pantry had been restocked in the short amount of time since they arrived. Food was important to Oswald, who always seemed to eat like he was afraid it would be his last time ever doing so. It was something he might ask about, if they were ever to enjoy some sort of closeness. The thought gave him pause as another hypothetical came to mind. Already he was beginning to feel things towards Oswald that he knew he shouldn't, feelings that he assumed had something to do with his likeness to Norman. But what if Oswald ended up feeling something too?

What if Oswald, who he knew now had once loved a man, could feel something for Victor as well?

Though it had been over a year, it still felt like a betrayal to even humor the idea.

He focused on making lunch, soup and sandwiches. Though he was unable to taste the soup, his suit enabled him to be near it without overheating, and the smell of it was wonderful. It was a simple chicken noodle soup with vegetables made because he had heard Oswald sniffling and wondered if he was in the beginning stages of a cold. The sandwich was a melt, turkey and cheese with the mustard that Oswald had, for some reason, bought three containers of.

He brought the food to the table and sat down beside Oswald's set place, sitting to wait.

“Victor?” He heard after ten minutes or so, and looked over.

“I made lunch.” Victor said immediately, and frowned at himself just as fast. Did he sound too enthusiastic?

“Oh! You didn't have to go to the trouble... I was just going to fix us some sandwiches. You aren't eating?” Oswald moved to sit down. He was dressed for the day, an expensive looking suit that fit him perfectly from slim waist to broad shoulders.

“I'm not able to anymore. My condition doesn't allow it.” Victor explained.

“... Oh. That's dreadful. Though I do suppose it saves time and money...” Oswald reasoned, leaning back in his seat and looking to the pale blue man.

“I suppose.” Victor mumbled. Once again he found himself having difficulty forming thoughts in Oswald's presence, and even more difficulty looking him in the eye as they spoke.

“Well... Thank you for cooking. It's a nice surprise.” Oswald said lamely, picking up his sandwich to try it. He made a noise that would have made Victor blush, were his capillaries not frozen beneath his skin.

“Did it turn out alright?” He looked up to the other man, who had already taken another bite, apparently ravenous. Oswald nodded vigorously. He kept his mouth closed until he finished, oddly polite for a man with such a villainous reputation.

“I'm glad. I hope the soup is okay.” Victor mumbled. He could take some happiness from Oswald's enthusiasm for his food, even if he wasn't able to partake himself.

“You're a good cook.” Oswald said, once he had swallowed his bite. “I'm sorry I'm sitting here eating when you can't, though. I can't imagine not being able to eat.”

“It's alright. Someday I'll be able to again.” Victor shook his head. His hand moved to a small pocket at his hip, slipping into it to retrieve the locket he kept there.

“Yes, you will.” Oswald sounded confident on his behalf. Sometimes his mannerisms were so like Norman's that it made Victor's chest hurt. He looked down, silent for a moment before he pulled the locket up. He didn't have the courage to mention it out loud, never graceful with his words. Instead, he set it on the table, hoping that Oswald would notice and ask. After a few moments of silence broken only by the sound of the spoon clinking against the side of the soup bowl, Oswald spoke again.

“Is that a locket?”

Victor nodded lightly, still mute.

“Is your husband in it?” Oswald said, voice gentle and careful.

“How... did you know I..?” Victor asked. Oswald smiled a little, shrugging a shoulder.

“I've always been someone who collects information... I found out how you came to be this way. That you had a husband. I'm sorry if the memory still hurts – I sort of know how it feels. The pain never really goes away.” The way Oswald spoke was a far cry from the way he did when they first met. It was that vulnerability he had seen the night before, laced with something akin to respect. Victor could tell that Oswald had lost more than just Edward.

“Y-yes... It's him. My Norman.” He mumbled his name like it was sacred.

Speaking his name out loud felt a bit like breaking a sacrament. Like a secret he had promised to keep but had slipped and told some stranger – but that wasn't fair. Norman would never have wanted to be kept a secret. The entire reason Victor had any sort of pride in himself was because of him. Before they met Victor had been solitary, closeted and self-hating. If there was any good left in him after his change, he owed it to Norman.

“If you don't mind me asking, what was he like?” Oswald watched Victor closely. He wasn't sure if Oswald was worried that Victor would react poorly, or if he was simply reading his expressions in a way that he had trained himself to do over years as an underling. Victor could only give a little smile, pulling the locket up and opening it. It was his favorite picture of him. Norman's face was lit by the sun, nothing else, and Victor had caught the perfect shot of him mid-laughter. Norman had been the sunlight in Victor's life, and without him, he had frozen nearly to his death.

“He was the best person I've ever known. He was so kind and caring, and funny... I miss him so much that sometimes I can barely breathe.” Victor closed his eyes as he spoke, unable to look at the picture for too long without grief consuming him.

“Were you together long?” Oswald asked.

“It would have been ten years this year. Our anniversary is soon... I had him for about nine years. It wasn't long enough.” Victor clasped the locket in his hand, fighting back the tears that began to well up. Now wasn't the time for this. It never was, not when others were around.

“The pain will become manageable, after time, Victor. He sounds like he was a wonderful person. I'm happy that you had him as long as you did.” Oswald was being incredibly delicate, watching Victor with a soft expression. He had certainly not expected empathy from the small man.

“He was my world... Without him I've just been existing. Like a spirit trapped here long after it should have passed on. Only I'm alive.” He sighed a little as he spoke, wondering flippantly if he sounded melodramatic.

“That's a feeling I know all too well, Victor. I've felt it too many times in recent history. When you lose someone that you hold in high regard, someone that you love and cherish, it's like a bleed in the heart. You're able to live with it, but everything hurts and sometimes you wish you could just lay down and give up.” Oswald stirred his soup slowly, watching the broth spin.

His face had grown dull and distant as he spoke, the memories of his own losses flooding to mind. Victor opened his hand to look down at the picture again. He wasn't sure how to go about this, how to bring up Norman's physical form and its likeness to Oswald's. He was only sure that if he didn't do it soon, he would lose all nerve and might never again be able to stomach talking about it. Norman would have wanted him to have courage, and with that thought, he slid the locket across the table.

He watched as Oswald picked it up, saw the picture, and dropped it as if it burned. His eyes blew wide as he regarded Victor.

“What is the meaning of this!?” Oswald snapped, pushing back in his seat. It was hard to read his tone, veering somewhere between abject horror and entirely rational anger.

“That's Norman.” Victor told him, keeping his gaze.

“That's me with blond hair!” Oswald protested.

“To me, you're him with black hair.” Victor reasoned.

“He must have been a clone, someone must have --” Oswald began trying to reason, but Victor shook his head.

“No. He wasn't a clone, Oswald. He was my _husband_. I was with him for nine years. I watched him die. Don't you dare say he was a clone – he was the most genuine person I've ever met and I won't have you cheapen that by saying he was a clone!” Victor thumped a hand on the table, half in anger at the thought, half in an effort to calm the other man whose mind was surely racing with far fetched conspiracy theories.

“I – of course not. It's just – this is so alarming, and-and I...” Oswald stuttered.

His reaction helped to cement in Victor's mind that he was truly unaware of Norman's existence. That they were brothers, separated somehow too early for either to have remembered. Victor picked up the locket once more, gently stroking a finger over the little picture. How would Norman have reacted to all of this? It was a silly question to even think of, really; he knew Norman would have been thrilled. It would have made no difference to him that his brother was a criminal, though he likely would have tried to reform him.

“The first time I saw your face was when you were running for Mayor, spouting all that hateful nonsense about the 'freaks'...” Victor mumbled, looking back up. “I thought it was some cruel joke, or that I was hallucinating because I was so deep into my grief.”

“Can... Can I see it again?” Oswald asked, reaching a hand out for the locket as he settled back into his seat.

Victor handed it over; Oswald was calming down, though his expression was still locked in confused horror. As he regarded the picture, his face slowly began to fall, brows knitting together in something more like sorrow.

“I... I had a brother. I never knew.” Oswald whispered.

Once again Victor was taken aback by Oswald, whose eyes began to cloud with tears. He didn't expect such a strong reaction. He didn't expect that Oswald would begin to cry at the loss of a brother had had never known. He didn't expect that Oswald would even trust that Norman was real and looked just like him, that it wasn't some ridiculous plot against him.

“How could this have happened? The two of you grew up in Gotham... Norman's parents never told him that he had a brother, or even that he was adopted. Your parents, did they ever say anything?” Victor asked softly. Tears streamed down Oswald's cheeks unrestrained. He made no effort to push them away. He got the feeling that the small man had wept enough over the course of his life to understand that sometimes it was necessary.

“I didn't know my father growing up... Not until last year. My mother...” Oswald closed his eyes, grimace twisting his features. He brought a hand to his chest, gripping it through his jacket as if an old wound had begun to ache. “My mother raised me. She never told me about him... There were a few things she said that... that make more sense now, though.”

“Really?” Victor leaned in a little, curious. He kept his hands at his lap. He knew that if he didn't, he would not be able to prevent them from moving to Oswald's cheeks to brush away those persistent tears.

“When I was younger, she often cried... I always thought it was because she missed my father, because she always told me he had died. There was a night where she was... inconsolable, and got drunk and held me. She sang to me for a while, and kept whispering to me that she missed my blond hair. I was so confused by it because my hair has always been black, like my fathers. There were times when we went out to the park, or the market... Any time she saw a set of twins she became upset. I – I should have known something was strange about it!” Oswald shook his head roughly, suddenly angry with himself. “I should have asked her! As I got older, she left the house less and less, so I just... forgot about it. She was always a bit eccentric, I...”

“There was no way you could have known, Oswald. Either of you.” Victor told him.

Without thinking, he moved a hand to rest over Oswald's. Despite his own pain, the nagging urge to comfort the other man pushed to the forefront. He had never considered how hurt Oswald would be by the revelation that he had a brother. Emotion poured off of him, unhindered and deep. He wondered if everything Oswald felt was so sharp, if he felt anger as completely, or if joy left him legless and giddy for ages. Such intensity was exhausting; Victor knew that firsthand. He had been so wrong about the small man. He was a villain, but even knowing him for such a short time had shown Victor that there was so much more to him than that. Oswald's story stretched far before the current day, and it was a tale written with equal amounts of blood and tears.

“I'll never know why she gave him up... I'll never know _him._ I always wanted a brother. Or sister; I wasn't picky.” Oswald said it weakly, looking up to him. His hands were encompassed by Victor's, and he made no move to change that as his tears began to subside.

“He always wanted a big family... He would have loved to have known you. Most likely would have tried to reform you.” Victor gave a soft, low chuckle, squeezing his hands.

“I... I'm happy that he had you, Victor. I didn't know him, but I envy the love the two of you must have shared. You were both very lucky.” Oswald's voice was soft again, cheeks puffy and pink from the crying spell that was slowly coming to a stop.

Victor looked to him, and for the first time in what seemed like a lifetime, smiled. He had spent such a long time angry and sad that it was hard to appreciate what he and Norman had. He loved him so profoundly that for a long time it was impossible to see past the injustice that the universe had inflicted upon them by taking Norman away. Victor had felt like half a person since his husband's death, a soul ripped asunder by cosmic cruelty. For that entire year Victor had felt it was poetic that his body no longer worked the way it should, that his organs had frozen, that all of the things that had once brought simple joy were no longer possible for him to do.

For too long Victor had remembered Norman with pain in his heart and tears in his eyes. Oswald's words were the gentle reminder that he needed to hear to jar him out of his own head. He was lucky to have loved Norman. He would have been lucky just to have known him, but he was blessed to have been loved in return, to have spent so many happy years with him. He had been so foolish, so consumed with pain that he had forgotten the lessons that his lost love had taught him over the years.

“Thank you, Oswald. I... needed to hear that.” Victor said softly.

“I know how hard it can be... While I haven't been lucky enough to be loved in return the way the two of you loved one another, I do understand how fiercely the pain of losing them can cut. Grief makes roots in your heart and tightens endlessly around it. I have had to fight through my sorrow for a long time now, but I'm starting to be able to appreciate those I lost and how fully they impacted me. My mother, who taught me strength, who taught me confidence, who taught me never to doubt myself... My father, who taught me forgiveness, the value of kindness, and the merit of a well fitted suit... they both died in my arms.” Oswald managed. He pulled his hands out from under Victor's, looking once again at the locket. “And the brother who I never knew. Perhaps he has something to teach me, through you.”

He spoke in poetic verse, like an anachronism from a fictional world where there was no pretension to speaking in such a way. It was beautiful and honest, and his face held no sign that he was just seeking pity. It was Oswald's truth laid bare, and Victor saw Norman in him more that moment than any others before. A lump formed in his throat, heavy and distracting as he watched him smile down at the picture.

“I'm not sure what I could teach you, Oswald... But I'll stay by your side until I figure it out.” Victor offered softly. He wanted to know everything. He wanted to take all of Oswald's pains and bear them with him, though his own seemed overwhelming.

“Thank you, Victor. You're a good man. I hope it turns out that you stay good.” Oswald said; the statement was a bit mysterious and piqued a curiosity in him.

“I don't think I'm a good man.” He said, watching him.

“That's the trait of a good man, Victor. One who believes whatever sin he's committed has rendered him forever tainted, forever a bad man. It's the ones who boast about their goodness that often truly aren't. Trust me; I've seen it many times. I've dealt with many men who thought they were good. You, at least, are open about your flaws and the darkness in you.” Oswald sounded the slightest bit bitter.

“You've been hurt many times, haven't you?” Victor asked.

Oswald's eyes lowered, and the question he asked was answered without words. Oswald was smiling in a way that seemed to pain him, chuckling softly. He wanted revenge against Edward, but it was so much more than that. Oswald wanted people to stop hurting him. He wanted to force a world that had constantly trampled him to respect him. Life and its players had battered him over and over when all he wanted was to be seen as something more than how the world painted him. Something more than a monster, something more than a man who was disabled and well spoken. A lesser man would have given up after faced with such opposition.

“I respect you, Oswald.” Victor said simply, as if reaching a decision out loud.

Oswald's head shot up to stare him directly in the eyes. The lump in Victor's throat grew heavy at the sight; his expression held an ocean of meaning that gathered in the corners of his eyes and slid down his cheeks as tears. This time, he wasn't able to resist bringing a hand up to brush them away. Cupping his cheek in hand, his thumb slid over the sharp curve of his cheekbones. Oswald's lower lip trembled as he did so, taken aback by the tenderness of his touch. One of Oswald's hand went over his, holding it there for a moment, his eyes slipping shut.

“Thank you, Victor. That means more to me than you could possibly know.” His voice was soft and almost reverent. Victor said nothing, just watching him, letting him take comfort in the touch. As he did so, he counted his freckles in his mind.

“... Come. There's work to be done.” Oswald said after a long moment of silence, opening his eyes with renewed energy.

“Of course.” Victor replied.

He didn't know what Oswald had planned for them, but he knew in that moment, that he would follow him to the ends of the earth if he asked. Whatever it took to ease the deep-set pain within him. If he was lucky, perhaps his own would heal along the way.


	6. His Unlikely Therapist

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Victor finds clarity from an unlikely source.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so, so sorry this is so late. I was sick all last week, and before that I was too busy to even sit down a minute and write. I hope you're all still with me. 
> 
> Comments are appreciated as always.

The next week allowed them no time in private to speak as Oswald's obsession with his revenge quest kicked into high gear. Since that lunch they had barely spoken at all, Oswald too hyper-fixated on finding and killing Nygma to really focus on anything else. Together the three, then four when the one called Firefly joined them, sought out the man who had tried to kill his husband's brother. He and Firefly got along as well as one would expect the personification of fire and ice to, but Ivy kept her at bay, and Oswald kept Victor level-headed.

The sight of Oswald on a mission was something spectacular to watch. Victor had grown to admire the way he worked, chaotic though it was. It was controlled chaos, like a swirling hurricane trapped in a bottle. It always threatened to break loose and cause devastation all around it, but Oswald knew how to keep it contained within his long fingers. He calculated every contingency, every reaction, and planned for the hundreds of things that could go wrong. He wasn't discouraged when things went awry; it only served to propel him on.

Victor was beginning to understand how Oswald had managed to take over the city over and over. He was as charismatic as he was deadly, and his diminutive form made him easy to underestimate despite proving a hundred times over just how dangerous that was. He spoke in ways that catered to each situation, sensing the emotions and intentions of those he conversed with such ease that it seemed almost superhuman to Victor, who never quite understood people and their behaviors. It was yet another trait that Norman and Oswald had in common; Norman was always a people person and could always read a person's expression, gauge their mood, and react accordingly within moments of meeting them.

The longer he spent in Oswald's atmosphere, the deeper his affection for the man took root in him. He found joy in his smile, even when it was a bitter one. He found pride in the way he walked despite the pain in his leg that forced his stride into something that people mocked. He was fascinated with the way Oswald spent an hour each morning readying his appearance, paying attention to the smallest details, from the little umbrella on the cuffs of his shirt to the eyeliner he applied meticulously.

But there was a question that stayed at the forefront in his mind, plaguing him endlessly. Did he genuinely care for Oswald, or was his affection residual, a product of his subconscious reaching out for his lost love in the most convenient form it could find? Until discovering Oswald, his loneliness had been heart-rending, a pain that exploded with the force of a dying star each time he smelled a certain scent or passed by a person with short blond hair. Now that he had joined Oswald, however, the agony had dulled to a gentle throb. His seemingly endless suffering gave way to a curiosity he thought was long gone.

Just like with Norman, Victor wanted to know everything about Oswald.

Just like with Norman, Victor found himself in awe of Oswald.

Logically, he understood the differences between the two. Where Norman was never anything but kind and caring, Oswald was a man of many faces. He could end a life in the morning with no remorse, have his small body fill with petulant rage at mid-day over something trivial, be reduced to giggling fits with Ivy at supper, and then spend his night morose, weeping silently into a tumbler of whiskey at the memory of countless pains. Where Norman was content to keep the house and spend his day writing tales of imaginary lands while Victor provided for both of them, Oswald was practically incapable of staying still for too long. He was a man of inordinate, dangerous ambition.

Their differences and similarities combined kept Victor up at night, mind a confused mess.

Unfortunately for Victor, nothing about emotion was logical. There was no ointment for a broken heart, no bandage for a psyche broken by grief, no sterile bin in which to discard all of one's unwanted emotions. While it was true that emotions were chemical reactions, and chemicals were something he understood, he had never been adept at interpreting feelings and sorting out their purposes and meanings. That was what he had Norman for, and without him he was floundering again.

He wanted to speak to Oswald desperately, but on some level, the very idea terrified him. He had the answers he wanted from him about his relation to Norman, but now he was caught in Oswald's gravity. The intensity of their last real conversation stuck with him, replaying over and over in his mind when he least expected or wanted it to. It was impossible for him to remove from his mind the sight of the other man's normally cruel fingers touching the locket with his brother's picture so gently it almost seemed like reverence, or the way his lip trembled when Victor told him that he respected him. He had been so genuine during their lunch, so forthright with his worries and pains that Victor had wanted nothing more than to hold him and remove his pain.

To react to him so emotionally was jarring, to put it mildly.

Now, with Oswald away chasing some lead with only Firefly to guard him, Victor was stuck with Ivy in a hospital as she watched over her incapacitated friend. Though their arrival had at first caused a bit of a stir, Ivy's perfume had made Victor and his suit a non-issue within a few moments. It had been entertaining at first, but boredom had quickly caused him to become lost in thought, sitting on a chair away from the two as Ivy spoke secrets to the girl in the coma.

His mind remained fixed on the thought of Oswald, of his worry that something would go wrong while they were away, that he would lose him in some way before he even had a chance to figure out his own emotions.

“You're like, the most depressing thing in the room right now, and my best friend is over there in a coma. What gives, Freeze-pop?” Ivy had come to where he sat without him noticing, and stood over him with a hand on her hip, weight leaning on one foot.

“Don't call me that.” Victor muttered, surly as he was jarred from his thoughts.

“Fine. What's on your mind, Frosty? You've been sitting over here staring at the wall for like, two hours.” Ivy followed up with another irritating nickname just as quick, but the genuinely curious tone with which she spoke made him overlook it.

“I thought you were here to be with your friend.” Victor replied lamely. She rolled her eyes, moving to sit beside him.

“Um, I am, but it isn't like she's the best conversationalist right now. Besides, the mood in the room was pretty low to begin with and you're not exactly making it better with your whole wall-watching routine.” She told him. It became clear that it was a conversation he would not be able to escape.

“You aren't going to leave me alone until I talk, are you?” Victor looked over to her.

“Not for a minute.” She confirmed, smiling.

“And if I clam up you'll just douse me with that perfume and force me to talk, won't you?” Victor asked.

“Correct. I'm trying to stay positive and stuff and it's really hard to do that when there's a sad blue popsicle man in the corner. You're really bumming me out.” Ivy informed him. If nothing else, Victor appreciated her honesty.

“I'm not sad, currently. I'm just bored.” Victor said. It was a half-truth because while he was bored, he was also sad.

“Remember when you said like, two seconds ago that I would douse you if you didn't talk to me?” Ivy warned, placing a hand on her hip despite the fact that she was seated. Victor frowned slightly. The thought of being under the thrall of Ivy's bizarre perfume was horrifying. The idea of losing bodily autonomy again for any reason wasn't something he wanted to experience, especially when one brought into consideration that the effect of her chemical cocktail caused something akin to love... and Ivy was a child still. A brilliant child in the body of an adult, but a child nonetheless.

“Sorry. I have a lot of things on my mind. I'm not really a talker.” He apologized softly, staring down at the floor. The tiles were proving to be interesting all of a sudden.

“That's okay, we can start small... how have you been sleeping?” She asked.

“Poorly.” He grunted in response.

“Are you staying up thinking about things?” She asked. “Sometimes I do that.”

“... Yes.” He frowned a bit deeper.

“Are you thinking about anything in particular? Like... the change you went through? Or a person?” She asked, gently prying. It was eerie how spot on she was when he'd barely said a word to her directly that entire week. Were teenagers getting more observant? He certainly wasn't when he was young, spending most of his time and energy on academic decathlons or some other extra curricular he was convinced would end up landing him a scholarship to MIT.

“I... yes, to both. You're very astute, aren't you?” Victor shook his head, staring at the back of his heavily gloved hands.

“Well, sometimes people are easy to figure out. Especially when you have troubles yourself. I don't sleep all that great sometimes because my life is really confusing and I'm trying to sort it all out, so I get it.” She didn't sound upset as she spoke, but when Victor lifted his head to watch her he could see her staring towards the bed where her friend lay, watching the curly haired girl breathe in slowly.

“I don't want to add on to your worries with mine.” Victor looked for an easy way out of the conversation, but Ivy was more clever than many gave her credit for... including him.

“My parents are dead, I died and came back looking like this, and my best friend is in a coma which she might not wake up from no matter how perky I am about the outlook. Pretty sure whatever you tell me isn't going to add any problems to my life, and I would rather hear them than watch you mope in the corner like a sad bomb-pop.” Ivy said, her tone the sort of dead-pan that reminded him of Oswald. He felt a pang of guilt at her little speech. He didn't know much about the girl, only that she was an artisan with plants and was younger than her appearance implied.

“You've gone through so much... I...” Victor sighed, looking to the girl. “I've been kept up by thoughts of my husband... and of Oswald.”

“Wait – you have a husband?” She gasped, eyes going wide as she regarded him.

“Had.” He corrected softly.

“Oh!” She blinked, and upon reading his expression, “... oh. I'm guessing that has something to do with the whole cold as ice thing?”

“Entirely. I won't bore you with the details, but he was dying and I was trying to save him... I failed. He passed away, and I couldn't bear it. I wanted to be with him but... Fate had other plans, I suppose.” He gave her the short rendition of the story.

“Oh, man, I'm so sorry. I heard you lost someone but I didn't know the whole story...” She pouted at him a little, brows furrowed in sympathy. He didn't tell her that it was not even close to the entire story.

“Time has helped some, but it isn't something I think I'll ever get over. He's on my mind when I wake up every day, he's on my mind when I try to sleep... Everything reminds me of him. I'm just happy that I've started to remember the happiness he brought me and not just the pain that came when I lost him.” Victor frowned softly, wondering how much he should tell her. The locket rest inside his pocket, ever present.

“Is being with us helping? I know we've only been at it for like, two weeks, but I already feel like we're a family, you know?” She asked. He appreciated how gentle she was being; it felt less like an impromptu therapy session that way.

“I didn't think that it would,” He said, speaking evasively only until he saw the faint hint of a pout on her lips, “... but it is, in some ways.”

“You can always talk to us about stuff. Well – I don't know about Oswald, he has a lot of his own stuff going on, but you can totally talk to me!” She offered.

There must have been something written in his eyes, some deep set emotion that set off when she mentioned him, because he found her staring and leaning in closer at the silence that followed her offer. She narrowed her eyes as she moved in closer, and closer still, causing Victor to lean back further and further. Eventually she pulled away once the chill of his suit began to bother her, and she stood to his front, hand on her hip.

“Okay, explain that face you just made.” Though there was nothing actually imposing about her physical form, the way Ivy stood over him gave him the distinct impression that he was going to be wholly unable to avoid the conversation that was to follow. Still, though, he avoided it, shaking his head.

“That's just the way I look.” He muttered. Ivy actually stamped a foot on the ground like an irritated child, staring at him.

It would be easy to just stand up and leave, but a promise made earlier that day kept him in his spot. Oswald had asked him to stay with Ivy, to make sure no one gave her trouble. It was a simple enough request, that of a boss making sure his crew had each others backs... but there had been a worry to his voice, the sort of worry that a mother barely concealed at her child having their first sleepover where she's promised not to call or stop by. And though Victor couldn't imagine anything going poorly at the hospital, he felt bound to his promise.

Oswald was terrified to lose Ivy, and Victor understood that fear deeply.

“He looks like my husband and I don't know how to feel about it.” Victor admitted, pushing a thick gloved hand into his pocket to retrieve the silver necklace. “He knows... They were likely brothers, twins, separated at a young age, too young for either to remember. So every time I look at him, I'm reminded of Norman. Everything about it is confusing and I am having a difficult time sorting through my emotions about it.”

Without asking, Ivy took the locket from his hands and opened it. Her eyes flew wide in shock, a hand going over her mouth as she regarded his beautiful husband. Victor found he could no longer watch her react, staring back at the tiled floor. A moment passed before she took his hand and placed the locket back in it and knelt down to look up at his downcast face.

“I know you're probably not a fan of hugs but I'm gonna hug you, okay?” She said, sliding up in one smooth motion to capture him in her arms, smaller body holding him for a moment before pulling away. She practically radiated warmth, but it wasn't unpleasant despite his condition, the suit keeping his core the proper temperature. He allowed his eyes to close for a moment, taking some comfort in the gesture.

“I'm sorry you have to deal with that... I'm sorry Pengy had to lose a brother he didn't even know, and I'm sorry that it happened to be your husband,” She told him during the embrace, “... and I didn't know your husband, but do you think he would want you to be sad all the time?”

She pulled away when she said that, sitting on her knees to look up at him. The question caused his eyes to widen, looking to the girl. She wasn't one to mince words.

“Everyone's allowed to be sad and grieve over things, but maybe... you and Oswald meeting is kind of fated? Maybe I'm just being dumb or whatever, I've never been in a relationship or anything 'cause puberty just kinda came at me one day, but maybe you met for a reason. He loved Ed a lot and ended up almost dead for it... You loved Norman and ended up almost dead for it. I know it's a different situation and that Norman actually loved you back and stuff but it's kinda poetic, right?” She smiled softly, watching his face as he listened.

“I don't know how I feel about him. He isn't Norman... but sometimes it's hard to keep it separate. The more time I spend with Oswald, the more I find myself... drawn to him. The way I was with Norman. It feels like I'm betraying him... and I don't understand.” Victor couldn't properly voice how he felt without it coming out bumbling and stupid. He shoved his fingers through his hair, frustrated with his inability to communicate. Ivy seemed entirely unbothered by his irritation.

“Emotions are super confusing. That's why I stick to plants – they're simple. But maybe.. um – maybe this is a second chance. For both of you. Your husband loved you, and you loved him – but he's gone now and I can't see you loving someone who wouldn't want you happy after they're gone. And Pengy is sort of... scared of loving anyone else 'cause of all the things that have happened to him. He thinks love made him weak because of what Ed did to him, and I hate always seeing him so sad. I'm not saying you two should like, get married or something right away, but maybe don't brush off your feelings for him?” She said, pushing her own hair back behind an ear.

“I don't know that I have feelings for him, though. Or if it's all just leftover feelings from Norman.” He said, though her words were beginning to resonate with him. She came across ditzy, but there was a definite intelligence to her deliberations.

“I mean, as long as you aren't like, comparing them, and you realize they're different people, what's wrong with that? People take their emotions out on other people all the time. It's like, part of being human. Kids with bad parents end up being bullies sometimes when they can't fight back, adults fall in love with people who remind them of other people they once loved...” Ivy said.

Victor remained silent, mulling over everything that she said. The redhead didn't try to fill the void with words, which he was glad for; instead, she stood up and patted his shoulder.

“Just think about it, okay? I'm gonna go check on Selina.” She told him as she walked away.

No wonder she and Oswald were so close. She made sense of things with an ease that he hadn't seen since Norman was with him, and her tender optimism began to sway his feelings. Maybe she was right, and it wasn't such a bad thing to have feelings for someone who wasn't Norman. Norman would always be his husband, his soul's mate, but death had separated them in a way that Victor was unable to fix. When his sickness took a turn for the worst, he had tried to prepare Victor, to tell him that it was okay to go on living.

When “we” turned into “you”, Norman had told him that he would make it through the pain. He had told him that he believed in him. He would continue to cherish Norman, to grieve him and hold him close, but life carried on regardless of where he stood. Perhaps, with Oswald, he would be able to stand tall again, to face life without anger and sorrow ruling his heart.

Later that night, when he and Ivy returned to the manor for the day, Oswald and Bridgit were nowhere to be found. They had never returned from chasing their lead. Victor, who just that day had been doubting the truth of his feelings for the smaller man, was rendered nearly paralyzed with fear and panic as raw as an open wound.

Wherever Oswald had been taken, Victor would find him, he would save him, and he would never let him out of his sight again.

 


	7. His Desperate Search

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Victor and Ivy comb the city in search of Oswald and Bridgit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading. I know this is starting to go longer than I intended for it to at first, but the end is in sight. I'll try to upload at least once a week until we're there.
> 
> Please leave comments <3

Though Victor made every effort to remain visibly calm as he and Ivy combed the city, the progression of the night stripped down his facade. For every warehouse they searched and came up empty, Victor's movements quickened. For every random ne're-do-well Victor threatened for information, his desperation grew. No one knew a thing, and most still assumed that Oswald was dead. The idea caught in his throat, choking him; he couldn't lose Oswald, not this soon. He realized now that he needed the other man.

Victor needed to learn more about Oswald, to help him see the differences between him and his lost love. He needed to be there for him when he wept, to comfort him when the weight of his world was bearing down on him. Victor needed Oswald to be his anchor to the realm of the living when his thoughts strayed towards sorrow and death. He needed him to make their new, odd family whole and strong, to keep them together when things were difficult.

He needed him right then, because things were difficult and he was horribly discouraged and he knew that Oswald wouldn't tolerate that from him. Hours had passed since they first began their search and they had gotten absolutely nowhere. Even Ivy seemed to be losing her usual pep, leaning against the wall in the Narrows where they had been searching.

“Maybe we should go back home. We aren't getting anywhere.” Victor muttered, leaning against the wall across from her in the alley.

“We can't stop looking!” She protested through the edge of sadness in her tone. “We can't give up on them!”

“We aren't giving up, Ivy... But what good is it doing going around bashing these empty heads? No one knows anything!” Victor slammed a fist against the bricks, not registering the pain it caused. No pain was more intense than the pain of loss, and his mind was jumping to terrible conclusions the longer he went without seeing the little man.

“Someone has to know something! We can't just sit here and let them get hurt! What if they die because we stopped?!” Ivy shouted, pushing off the wall and moving towards him, looking up at him.

His throat tightened once again at the look in her eyes. She looked wild, ready to fight him for even suggesting they stop looking. The realization dawned on him that he was forgetting how important Penguin and Firefly were to her, that he had disregarded her because of his own pain. His brows furrowed a little, looking down at her. Her fists were balled up, knuckles pale, her smaller body full of potential energy, as if she was getting ready to swing at him for daring to stop for even a moment. If she did try to strike him, he would neither stop her nor retaliate.

“I just think we need to come up with a new plan – we aren't giving up. I promise you, we won't give up until we find them. But you know much more about this city than I do, so I need your help.” He spoke quietly, seeing the beginning stages of panic causing the girl to fidget, the frown on her face deepening.

“We've been to all the places I know, though. And – and everyone I know is either gone or doesn't recognize me anymore...” She stammered, fists unclenching, smacking an open palm against his armored chest in frustration. Victor brought a hand up to cover it with his own, shaking his head.

“Are you sure?” He asked carefully, watching her, concerned for her now. “Take a deep breath, Ivy.”

Victor demonstrated the breaths, hoping that she would follow suit. Closing her eyes, she did, using his breathing as a baseline to calm herself. Victor said nothing, letting her hand go and smiling a little as it dropped to her side. Taking one last, determined breath, she opened her eyes, the smile returning to her lips and the rest of her features.

“There's one person who might be able to help us. If anyone can find out where they are, it's her.” Ivy had a tinge of determination in her tone, and Victor felt a strange sense of pride as her demeanor switched. She had picked herself back up so quickly with only the smallest bit of coaxing. It was an enviable trait that Victor couldn't even imagine having, being prone to melancholy. When he was distraught he tended to drop into a pit of despair for hours. Without Norman there to pull him out, those hours sometimes stretched to days and weeks.

“Lead the way.” He said. He didn't bother asking who they were going to see. As long as they were following some sort of lead, as long as they were still moving, he could combat the vicious anxiety that bubbled within him.

Their travels took them to the outskirts of Gotham, to a cathedral that had been long abandoned by its parishioners. The roads around it were framed with dilapidated buildings, a ghost town within the city limits. It was eerie to walk through, with Ivy striding through the middle of the road towards the church, undisturbed by car or human. Were the situation different, Victor would insist that they should avoid the area as something catastrophic seemed to have happened there, but they were desperate enough to ignore superstition. He just hoped Ivy wasn't leading them into trouble.

She led them to a side door, pushing it open carefully. Before she could go in, Victor moved ahead of her, protective of the unarmed teen. Gun raised and eyes focused, he moved in, making sure to keep her behind him. She didn't seem to mind; in fact, she stuck by especially close, as if the ambiance of the church had made her nervous suddenly. He certainly didn't blame her. There was something about a House of God covered in dust and littered with broken pews that didn't sit right.

“Hello?” Ivy called out from behind him, “Miss Mooney?”

Mooney?

Victor paused. He had heard that name before, many times, in fact. She was one of the ones resurrected by Strange, the former Queen of Gotham. Victor was simultaneously on guard and curious; how did Ivy know her? She was full of surprises. He just hoped the girl had some pull with the crime boss, and that they wouldn't have to leave in a hurry. His eyes were drawn towards the back of the church as the rough creaking of old hinges being used resonated through the sanctuary.

Several burly men poured out from behind the doors, flanking her on either side. She had the style and poise of a woman who knew her power. Ivy stepped out from behind Victor but kept close to his side, trying not to fidget in her presence, eyes wide. Fish raised a hands and her guards halted, obedient subjects to their green-and-gold clad Queen. Victor had learned that like the rest of Strange's freaks, she too had been brought back with an unearthly power, one that could make men her thralls with just a gentle touch.

“Miss Mooney... We need your help.” Ivy seemed uneasy, one hand resting on Victor's elbow. He wondered if there was some history there that he didn't know about, or if it was just the presence of the woman that intimidated her.

“And who are you to come barging into my home, asking for my help?” Fish raised a brow as she moved towards Ivy and Victor; she completely disregarded the man to look directly into Ivy's eyes.

“I – my name is Ivy. You tried to kill me once, but I survived. You made that man touch my face and – when I ran away from him, I fell into a drain, and washed into the river. I think he made me older.” Ivy fought to hold back the stammer in her voice, standing as tall as she could against the imposing woman.

“... Ivy?” Fish tilted her head, a smirk crossing her lips. “You say I tried to kill you, but here you are. That's bold, little girl. I think I remember you – it's in your eyes. You're that girl my little kitty cat brought here, aren't you?”

“Yes.” She mumbled. Victor stood tall next to her, a monolith in blue. If Fish made any sort of motion of violence towards the girl, he would freeze the entire church faster than she could blink.

“And even though I tried to kill you, here you are. All grown up, pretty little thing,” Fish chuckled gently, looking to Victor, “And got yourself a big blue bodyguard. You one of Hugo's?”

Victor looked down to the woman. There was no threat towards Ivy or himself in her posture, calm as could be, but a true sign of a career criminal was the ease in which they strode into danger. He didn't trust her, not after hearing she had once tried to kill Ivy, who was merely a child in body and mind then. He was proud of her for facing the woman in order to try and find their friends, but he would not turn his back on her, nor trust her.

“Strong, silent type, hm? I like that in a man.” Fish brought a hand up towards him; Victor moved his head back and pulled Ivy away.

“Please, Miss Mooney. Someone has taken Oswald and Bridgit and we can't find them.” Ivy moved away from Victor's arm, her need to see them safely home outweighing her fear of the woman.

“Oswald? Oswald Cobblepot?” Her face softened a minute amount, looking between the two of them. “He's alive?”

“He's hard to kill.” Ivy said with a touch of pride, and perhaps a bit of hope at her change in demeanor.

“Don't I know it. If he's alive, he's after revenge against the one who tried to take him out.” Fish turned to start walking back towards her men.

“How did you know that?” Ivy asked.

“Because I know Oswald. That boy takes out anyone who crosses him. Especially if that person made him look like a damn fool, like that skinny bitch did.” Fish turned once she got to her men, looking vaguely disappointed, “Thought I taught him better than to let a man rule his world, but love does strange things to a person.”

Her words struck home to Victor, who felt he was the poster child for poor decisions made in the name of love. He and Oswald were more alike than he had ever considered possible before. His heart ached for the missing man, and his brows must have furrowed, because Fish's attention shifted to him at his silence.

“What's the look for, Big Blue?” She asked, looking him up and down. “Don't like the way I'm speaking?”

“It isn't that... I just – I understand him. What you said was true. Will you help us?” Victor avoided her eyes. They were intense, and made him uncomfortable.

“Mama doesn't do anything for free. Plead your case to me – what's in it for me?” He could practically **feel** the smirk on her face from the tone in her voice.

“We don't have anything to give you! They – they're all we have.” Ivy protested.

“You wouldn't have come in here without a bargaining chip. If you've been hanging with my boy, you know better than that. He would have taught you to never go into a deal empty handed.” Fish said. Victor got the distinct feeling she was waiting for something. She was waiting for some action, for some confession, some plea, some idea. She was cunning and decisive; he saw Oswald in her. Or was it the other way around?

Victor stepped forward.

“You'll get me. I'll work for you as long as we see him safe.” Victor declared.

Fish smirked, pleased with his words.

“I- I'll work for you too! I can't really fight but I can do some pretty crazy stuff with plants, and I really just need for him and Bridgit safe, and I --” Ivy began to ramble, stopping instantly when Fish raised a hand.

“That's enough, girl. Show me what you can do, Blue. And you, girl.” She gestured for a guard, “Go see what they're made of, precious.”

Ivy took a deep breath, reaching into her pocket to take out the small vial of perfume she had on her, dabbing it on her neck. The guard began to move towards her, and she smiled softly, crooking her finger to him. The man tilted his head, moving close enough for her to whisper to him. As easy as flipping a switch, the man was under her spell. He turned his attention to Victor, discarding his weapon and charging at him like a bull.

Hoisting up his gun, Victor blasted him, freezing the man solid within a second. He raised a heavy boot and kicked him apart. The man shattered, falling to grotesque, steaming pieces on the church floor as Ivy laughed at the morbid sight. Mooney moved forward, walking a slow circle around the two and the mess they had made. When Victor caught her eye, he saw approval there.

“Well, color me impressed. You've got skills, and it looks like you're loyal to him... Which might mean he'll listen to you when you ask him to join me.” Fish smiled to the two, arms held behind her back.

“Join you – in what way?” Victor asked, looking at her through wary eyes.

“Oswald and I have a history. I made him who he is today. In a way, I think he made me, too. We've had our ups and downs, but doesn't every family?” Fish smirked. “I want my boy back. I want to rule Gotham with him, _together_. Suppose dying a couple times really put things into perspective for me.”

“You want to... co-rule?” Victor mumbled. The idea seemed absurd to him, with Gotham's history of gang wars and unrest.

“I see the doubt written on your face, Blue – but you can hold that doubt, keep it deep down inside. You don't know our relationship, and you don't know me. But you need me, so you don't have much of a choice, do you?” There was a finality in her tone that told him she would humor no further questioning. Rather than risk losing her help, Victor went mute again, giving a slow nod.

“Good boy. Now, come; I have an idea of where he might be.” With that, she began to walk towards the back door.

Ivy and Victor followed dutifully, passing through what appeared to be Fish's base of operations, and straight out a back door, where a van awaited them. Victor kept his questions to himself, but fidgeted with nervous energy as they loaded into it and set off at Fish's order. Once they were moving, she looked back to them.

“I hope you two are ready for a fight. Oswald's former beau is smart, but he ain't too bright; he got himself mixed up with the Court, and I'm guessing they have him now. Oswald and your other friend must have been following a little too close for comfort and gotten snatched up too. Oswald always was too bold when it came to revenge schemes. They won't kill them, though, not yet. From what I know about the Court, they may try to force Oswald into doing their dirty work. And they'll find a use for the other one.” Fish said.

Ivy and Victor exchanged a glance. Neither had any idea what the woman was talking about. The Court? She could see the confusion in their furrowed brows and the frowns on their lips, and chuckled.

“The Court of Owls... They run Gotham, behind the scenes. My former boss had direct dealings with them... and I have reason to believe Hugo was working for them too. How else could that bald headed bitch get the sort of funding he needed to bring people back from the dead?” Disdain was heavy in her voice. The mention of Strange sent a current of rage through Victor's spine. He didn't bother to keep it off of his face. He got the feeling she understood.

“The Court of Owls? I thought that was just a story...” Ivy mumbled.

“Of course you did, baby. Any shadow organization worth its salt thrives on the entire world knowing its name without believing it's real. They want people to laugh, to think it's just some urban legend made up to keep kids in line. They're real, though, and I'm almost certain they'll have Oswald and your other friend.” She looked between them. “But not for long.”

The smirk on her lips sent a jolt of terrified excitement through Victor, whose resolve was instantly steeled by her words. It was true enough that they didn't know her, but her confidence was infectious. She and Oswald were one and the same. They were natural leaders, and Victor believed wholeheartedly that she spoke the truth. She would lead them to Oswald.

As they drove, Fish went through a plan that she came up with on the spot. The building she believed Oswald and Bridgit in was in the heart of the city, hidden in plain sight as a squat storefront that had been long since boarded up. They would break in with Victor's cryogun and take out any guards in the way before making their way to the basement, where she believed they would find the two (and Edward). Victor knew better at that point than to question how she knew this. She likely already knew that Edward was being kept there, but didn't care until she learned Oswald was alive and held by them as well.

He only hoped they weren't too late.

 


	8. His Attempted Rescue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> With a new ally, Victor and Ivy infiltrate the building they believe Oswald and Firefly to be held in.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for reading, as always. Comments are appreciated, I love feedback. <3

The door exploded open in a cascade of frozen, brittle fragments. Victor led the charge, shoving through the remains of the entryway and pushing towards the sounds of movement. A masked man ran at him only to find himself riddled with bullets by one of Fish's men, falling bodily to the floor. Victor stepped over him, carrying on, cracking the skull of the next would-be assailant with the butt of his heavy gun. As the group made their way down the stairs, they were greeted with a chaotic scene.

Masked men dashed back and forth. There was yelling, arguing, general disarray and panic. Victor paused in his steps, expecting to be attacked again, but was soon hit with the realization that the two men they had felled before were actually running for the door. Had the men heard the van in the alley? Was Fish's mythical Court of Owls really so unorganized that they were all running around like chickens with their heads lopped off?

Victor looked back at the crew that had followed him down. The look of confusion he wore was mirrored in their faces. He moved to snatch up a fleeing man, staring him in the eyes, opening his mouth to begin an impromptu interrogation. He would demand to know where Oswald was being kept, perhaps force the man to bring them there to release him...

That was when Victor heard it. The tell-tale woosh and steady hiss of Firefly's flamethrower. A man ran from the room engulfed in flame. It was a wretched sight to watch the man plow blindly into the adjoining wall before dropping. He screamed in pain as the fire consumed him, silent only when death closed his throat. Victor frowned, looking away, finding the scene to be too much to bear. It was why he preferred his own methods. Though both ensured a grisly death, the one his gun provided was nearly instantaneous. They didn't die in the fear and horrendous pain that a flamethrower wrought. Fire was entirely without mercy. When he looked back, he was able to catch the exact moment that Ivy, who refused to stay in the van, realized that Bridgit was there.

She began to once again personify youthful fearlessness, running towards the room the man had just run out of.

“Ivy, don't!” Victor yelled, shoving the man he meant to question to the floor to give chase.

His suit was cumbersome, however, and Ivy was light on her feet. By the time he caught up to her, there was an arch of flame making its way to her. Time slowed to a crawl as adrenaline flooded his body. He hefted his gun up, unable to move past her in time, but just in time to rest the thick barrel on her shoulder and depress the trigger. Ivy gave a little squeak as liquid ice blasted past her face to intercept the arch, fighting back Firefly's assault.

“Bridgit, please stop!” Ivy shouted, “We're here to help!”

The girl's face, which had been contorted in brilliant rage, softened once she realized who she was trying to kill. She looked up, dark eyes meeting Victor's. Though the two didn't like one another, they were family now; neither wanted to hurt the other. Those days were long past, left in Arkham where they belonged. She nodded towards the stream of fire and ice competing for purchase, and turned her head to her left. Victor understood; if either stopped firing, the other would be in danger.

“Ivy, step back behind me. Now!” Victor commanded. Ivy, already petrified, gave a little nod and ducked down underneath his raised arms to tuck her smaller body behind his. He then nodded to Bridgit.

“On three?” He called.

“One...” She started.

“Two...” He replied.

“Three!” The pair simultaneously pushed their guns to the left and down, removing one another from the path before letting go of the triggers.

Behind him, Ivy peeked out. Victor could hear Fish's thugs making quick work of what remained of the men that held Bridgit and Oswald captive. The sound of boots clicking on stone was the only other noise as Fish moved past Victor to regard both him and Bridgit. Her brow was raised, impressed by the cooperation between the two.

“Fire and ice... Yet you work together perfectly. How about that. Is this your girl?” Fish looked to Ivy, who also moved past Victor, completely ignoring the older woman and making a beeline to her friend, throwing her arms around her.

“Are you okay? Did they hurt you? We were looking for you all day! Do you know where Pengy is? Are you okay?” Ivy rambled worriedly, taking her by the shoulders and looking her over.

“I'll take that as a yes.” Fish chuckled.

“I'm fine... They knocked me out and had me tied to a chair – but I think Oswald escaped. I heard a huge commotion and they all got distracted... I used that time to slip the ropes 'cause I guess none of them ever made it to that stage in the boyscouts or something. The knots were easy to get loose. One of them tried to hurt me but I got to my gun in time and I kinda – lost it a little. I'm so sorry I shot at you, I wasn't thinking!” Bridgit moved forward and hugged the taller girl.

“It's okay, it's just lucky that...” Ivy began to reply, but Victor had stopped listening.

Oswald escaped?

He had to be sure. The thread of doubt and fear that had been ever present earlier that day had returned to tighten around his throat as he moved towards the next set of rooms. Charred bodies and a single chair in the center of the room told him that he was in the room Firefly had been kept in, and he pushed past. A security room with computer consoles showing the camera feeds throughout the building. He continued on, his footsteps hastening.

If Oswald had been hurt in his escape, or if Bridgit was wrong and he was still trapped somewhere, Victor **had** to find him as quickly as possible. He passed through two more rooms before coming to the one Oswald must have been kept in. The sight was surreal and sinister. It was a dark room full of human sized bird-cages. He wondered if it was symbolic on the Court's part or just convenience that led them to cage the man with the bird moniker. Moving to the two open cages, he frowned, searching for signs of his husband's twin.

There were bodies on the floor, brutally dispatched by something sharp. He was quickly beginning to doubt the abilities of the Court. For a shadow organization that likely knew many things about many things, they certainly overlooked Oswald's fondness for sharp objects and proficiency with making weapons out of literally anything within reach. But this was Oswald he was thinking of; he had carved an empire out of Gotham right beneath the noses of those who underestimated him.

Victor looked around, moving towards an open door at the far wall and through it. Oswald had left a trail of vicious violence in his wake for Victor to follow, each body a breadcrumb that would hopefully lead him to the man. He hoped he wasn't injured, that he was close, that he had heard the ruckus that Bridgit had caused and was waiting close enough for him to find him. Victor needed to see him, needed to know he was okay. He swore he would wrap him up in his arms and confess the things he had been feeling if only he could just _find him_.

When he came to a mostly empty alleyway, Victor growled deeply in frustration, giving a trash can a firm kick. He looked around and screamed at the first face he saw; some poor homeless woman who cowered at the sight of him.

“Please – don't hurt me!” She cried. Victor kicked the can again, shaking his head.

“I – I'm not! Did you see someone leave here?” He said through gritted teeth. He wasn't trying to frighten her, but his frustration was hitting a boiling point.

“Y-yes, two people – two men, one tall, one short. The little one yelled at my friends – he was scarier than the tall one, honest to God. They walked away in different directions. I don't know anything else, I swear!” She had her hands raised in surrender, and Victor closed his eyes, trying to collect himself.

“The small one. Which way did he go?” He used the calmest tone he could muster.

“Down that way, towards Broad Street...” She said, pointing.

“There are a group of people who may be following me – tell them which way I went.” Victor muttered.

His head began to swim as he moved towards the street, picking up his pace as much as he was able. Oswald was out there on his own, maybe hurt, maybe scared. Victor had been too late to save him from capture, but he wouldn't give up now. They had both suffered too much. An irrational part of his mind conjured up images of Oswald wounded somewhere, wasting away in a filthy alley because Victor had been too slow to reach him in time. Another part, far more sinister, interjected to inform him that he was likely projecting old feelings on to the current situation; that he was only this scared because to see Oswald die would mean he had failed Norman twice.

He shook his head briskly as he crossed another street, eyes darting back and forth to scan the area for him. The longer he walked the more maddening it became. He became angry at the heaviness of his suit preventing him from going faster. He became frustrated that there were no signs of him anywhere; Oswald was quick on his feet in spite of his disability.

Victor was unsure of how much time had passed or how much distance he had covered when a van pulled up in front of him at the next crossing. It was the van they had arrived in.

“Hiya Vicki – hop in. You're never gonna find Pengy on foot.” Ivy was in the passenger side, and seemed far more at ease than she was just earlier that day.

The side door slid open for him, and he stepped in, slumping against the opposite side of the vehicle. He ended up seated, body slightly doubled, a hand going to his face to hold it. He was too anxious to look at anyone, his entire form still ready to spring into action at a moments notice. If he could just _see_ him, if he could just see that he was okay, that he was still breathing, that he hadn't fallen to pieces in Victor's absence...

“What's your problem?” A soft voice asked across from him. He lifted his eyes to see Bridgit staring at him.

“Nothing. I'm tired.” Victor deflected.

“He's gonna be fine, you know.” She said. His head shot up from his hand to regard her.

“He's smart. He has a ton of places all over that he can hide. Stop moping, we'll find him. It makes me wanna fight you less and a girl's gotta have a rival.” She said. There was no judgment in her voice, no amusement, just a simple reassurance she wished to convey.

Was he really so obvious that everyone he encountered could tell he felt strongly for the other man? He was sure the look on his face did little to remove the notion from the girl's mind. He sighed a little, letting his head fall back against the vans interior. Maybe it wasn't such a bad thing that she had suspicions. She never spoke much, and the two did seem to have a burgeoning respect for one another. He looked back at her.

“It's been a long day,” He said, “I just need to know he's okay.”

“He is. The world doesn't always have to be blue, you know. We'll find him.” Bridgit gave the smallest hint of a smile, a sight rarely seen. It forced an unintentional smile to his own lips.

Victor turned a little to look at Ivy in the front seat. Her fingers drummed against the arm rest, keeping an unorganized tune that spoke to her worry as she stared out the window. Victor shifted a little closer to nudge at her, and when she looked back, his head tilted just a bit.

“You know where he might be?” Victor asked.

“He has a bunch of safehouses all over... There's one kinda close.” She mumbled in response, half-smiling at him. She looked exhausted. Neither of them had gotten any rest in nearly 24 hours and it was beginning to show on her face.

“When we find him, you need to get some rest.” Victor told her. She turned her upper half to look at him more fully, brows raised.

“... I'm not that tired.” She pouted.

“Yes you are. So am I,” Victor returned, “And you've likely been up longer than me, since I dozed off for a while when were in the hospital.”

She turned back in her seat, arms folding over her chest at the idea of being told she needed rest. Victor smirked a little, shaking his head. For all her strengths, she was still so young and vulnerable. They had grown closer through their feelings for Oswald, and Victor would do what was within his power to ensure her safety as well. Gotham was full of different types of monsters; there were ones that would try to prey on someone like her.

She said nothing more, attention diverting to the road as Fish's man drove. It was only a moment more before they pulled up in front of a ramshackle building that looked ready to collapse. How the building had yet to be condemned was beyond him. Though if this was a safehouse, Penguin may have paid someone off long ago to stay away... Or perhaps the interior gave a different picture than the outside.

All he really knew was that his heart thumped harder in his chest the moment they pulled in front of the building. If Oswald wasn't there he worried he would slip into a despair from which he would be unable to leave. Victor was the first one out of the van, followed close by Ivy and Bridgit. Fish and her men made no effort to leave, however, causing him to pause and look back.

“You aren't coming in?” He said.

“Not yet, Blue. He's bound to be upset and tired and in no mood to negotiate or talk. Take this – when you find him, and when he's calmed his angry little self down, call me. I'm the only contact on it. We'll come get you, and we can get to work.” Fish leaned forward, handing him a mobile phone. It was hardly state of the art, but low tech meant it was harder to track; it was a burner, not meant for frequent usage.

“Very well.” Victor mumbled, slipping it into his insulated pocket.

Ivy was halfway into the building by the time Victor turned, with Bridgit tailing her closely. He was relieved to have Firefly back with them. If there was danger in the building, she would protect Ivy from it if Victor couldn't keep up. He sighed and moved in, following the girls, heart pounding harder with every step. By the time he reached the steps he felt ready to burst, dizzy with a mixture of concern and excitement at the prospect of finally finding him after a long day steeped in intense fear.

At the top of the stairs, he caught sight of Ivy leaning against an open doorway down a gloomy hall, head leaning against the frame. She was smiling.

Victor ran to her to observe, and almost laughed out loud.

Oswald was in the apartment, curled up on the floor, sound asleep and snoring lightly. He wore an ill-fitting jumpsuit which was filthy, covered in splatters of deep red, the cuffs of the pants gray from running with them underfoot. Victor stepped in and moved to him, kneeling at the man's side as relief washed over him. The sight of him, filthy as he was, seemed to heal some ache within Victor, a cool balm on a wound he didn't know was there. 

“Oswald...” Victor mumbled, hand reaching out to touch his cheek.

Ivy and Bridgit came in, closing the door. Ivy was soon at Victor's side, and Bridgit posted herself at the door, ever wary but wearing a little smile upon her lips at the sight.

“He's sound asleep.” Victor said, looking up to the girl.

“We should bring him to bed.” Ivy suggested.

Victor shifted closer to the small man, pulling him into his arms with little effort. Oswald was so light, tiny against his broad chest as he shifted to stand. The movement startled him a little, body jerking, but it wasn't enough to jar him from his likely well-deserved slumber. Ivy grinned, clapping her hands with a sudden giddiness.

“I'm so happy we're all back together.” She said. Victor chuckled.

He began to move towards the next room, seeking out a soft surface to lay the small man on as Ivy followed.

“I am too. Now we all need to rest.” Victor said, moving into a sparsely furnished bedroom; there was a bed and a nightstand with a lamp on it. Until Victor saw the bed he was able to ignore his own exhaustion, pressing on to ensure the well-being of his new family... but now his eyelids had grown heavy, and as he moved to lay Oswald down, the weight of his suit seemed to pull down on him. Exhaustion set into his bones, and every step became more difficult.

Oswald clung to his shoulders as he slept, and when Victor leaned down to put him to bed, he found Oswald's unconscious strength to be difficult to overcome. He frowned a little; he didn't want to wake him by prying him off, so instead he climbed up with him. Sleeping in the suit was burdensome, but the bed was so inviting. Oswald nestled against the hard armor plating that covered the larger man's chest, thin fingers resting there. He didn't know how Oswald would sleep comfortably like that, but he did his best to make it more bearable, pulling a pillow to the crook of his arm and propping his head on it.

“Um, can...” Ivy said, her voice soft and nervous. Victor looked up.

“Can I get up there too?” She asked.

Victor scooted towards one of the edges to give her room, patting the bed. She grinned and got on the bed, laying down and closing her eyes.

“Thanks. It's just the only bed, you know, and I think I'll... sleep better if I have you guys close.” She said, body already beginning to relax.

“Rest well, Ivy.” Victor smiled a little as he spoke, keeping his voice low.

He looked to Oswald's sleeping face, wishing he could stroke his cheek without the thick fabric of his gloves separating them. The tiny man slept soundly with his jaw slack and eyes moving beneath the lids as he dreamed. Perhaps to others he would look comical, but to Victor there was nothing more beautiful than the sight of Oswald so peaceful. He was a remarkable man. Victor had fallen prey to one of Oswald's most effective tricks that day; like so many others, he had underestimated Oswald's abilities. He had assumed that Oswald would need rescuing, doubting his penchant for self-preservation.  Victor knew now that Oswald was not some damsel, not some delicate creature that needed a gentle hand to guide him. Victor knew now that Oswald was strength personified. The differences between Oswald and Norman had become even more clear that day, and Victor knew that he could be what Oswald needed.

What he needed was loyalty, and Victor's would never waver. He needed caring, and Victor had that in abundance.

He watched Oswald for a long while before sleep took him.

And for once, Victor dreamed of quiet times, unburdened by the pains of life's injustices.

He dreamed of the future.

He dreamed of Oswald.

 


	9. His Heartfelt Words

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Victor and Oswald speak.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay once again. Life has been hectic and the motivation waned for a while, but I'm still here and still appreciate you all for reading <3

When Victor woke, Oswald was still in his arms and Ivy was still at his side, both sound asleep. Sun crept in through a hole in the tattered curtains, illuminating Oswald's face as it made the slow climb to his closed eyelids. Victor shifted just a little, resting a hand behind his head to block the light that would surely pester the man awake. Both of them deserved to sleep a little longer, even if Victor was unable to.

He felt comfortable there. The position strained his neck and back, the armor providing no actual _physical_ comfort, but he had Oswald and Ivy there. He knew Bridgit was close by, keeping watch. All the people he cared for were safe and accounted for and the stiffness in his neck and back would be a small price to pay to keep it that way. The previous day had put certain things into perspective for Victor, mainly his feelings for Oswald. It took nearly losing him and a full day of indescribable panic, but some things had fallen into place for Victor, who watched the sleeping man with a fondness he had yet to express to him out loud.

Time passed. An hour or so, perhaps, maybe longer, before Oswald stirred at his side. He groaned softly, the arm draped over Victor's chest retracting to his own, face pressed to the side of his breastplate. Victor watched as he stretched, his entire body pushing out and going stiff for a moment, shaking with the effort of knocking the sleep from his system. He was more like a cat than a bird at that moment, eyes slowly opening to the light that had begun to brighten the room.

He stared up at his pale blue bed-mate, brows furrowing deeply. He was the very picture of confusion as he tried to sort out where he was and why he wasn't alone. Victor wondered what thoughts went through his mind. If he wondered why Victor dared to hold him, or if he took comfort in it. He hoped he wasn't pushing his boundaries; after all, in all his musings about his feelings for Oswald, he had never taken into consideration how Oswald felt about him. For all he knew, Oswald just saw him as a means to an end, as a tool with which he would achieve greatness again.

Victor's lips curled in a frown and he shifted his focus to the ceiling at the thought. The only relationship he had ever been in had been with Norman, so this new alliance and the strength of his feelings towards Oswald were entirely new territory. The thought of longing and unrequited feelings were foreign to Victor, whose only love had been returned with such ease that it felt like destiny. He had never been fond of people growing up, missing the “milestones” that society tended to push on a young man. He never had a string of high school girlfriends or boyfriends, never had much in the way of romantic crushes, he never awkwardly lost his virginity after prom (something he didn't even attend). The prospect of sex and romance in general held little appeal to him before he met Norman, who had quickly became his main focus in life.

He closed his eyes and shook his head as if to physically banish the thoughts from his mind. If Oswald didn't care about him, so be it. He would still be there for him, with him. He wasn't entitled to anything just because he wanted him. Life was difficult enough for the man who continued to watch him as he looked away. Victor could feel his eyes on him, regarding him, and when he looked back down Oswald's confusion seemed to have dissipated. There was a gentle, sleepy curiosity in his gaze.

“When did you two get here?” Oswald mumbled. Victor smiled, pulling his hand away finally. The beam of sunlight had traveled past them, hitting Ivy's cheek which was promptly pressed into his other arm.

“Late last night... We spent all day searching for you and Bridgit. By the time we arrived you had already taken care of it and Bridgit was well on her way to taking care of herself.” Victor said, trying not to sound a little disappointed. He had some grand idea about being the savior which he knew was selfish, but couldn't be helped. Oswald's brows furrowed slightly, looking the faintest bit lost at his words.

“You were... searching for us?” Oswald said. The statement threw Victor for a bit of a loop. Did he expect different? Did he really think he and Ivy would just sit around waiting for his return, or abandon him?

“Why wouldn't we have? We're a team, aren't we?” Victor asked.

Oswald shifted to sit up, grimacing a little as his joints popped and cracked with the stress of the new position. Pale, lovely eyes regarded Victor and the girl still sound asleep at his side with an expression that was equal parts intriguing and unreadable. It could have been gratitude, or worry, or even irritation, all possible with the way the crease between his brows deepened, the way his eyes narrowed, and the way his mouth hung open just a little as he watched the two.

“I – I... yes. We're a team. A – a family.” Oswald's expression softened to a smile that Victor wished he could see all the time. He almost thought he could see a bit of glassiness in his eyes, gratitude evident in his look.

“We are. And families don't leave each other behind.” Victor said.

“How did you find me?” Oswald asked, laying back down on the pillow wedged between Victor's arm and side. His head came to rest on Victor's shoulder, an innocent gesture that caused his heart to pick up speed within his chest. It was a show of trust and comfort, and that meant the world to Victor.

“Effort and a lack of rest. We went all around Gotham looking in different places, roughing up random strangers for information because we had no idea where to start... Most people still assume that you're dead, and those who don't weren't helpful at all. As a last resort, we went to... someone from your past.” Victor frowned, unsure of how else to bring Mooney up. He knew she would be waiting to hear from him.

“Someone from my past? Jim? It couldn't have been Butch or Barbara, they would never help...” Oswald immediately began to guess, curiosity piqued; he had so few allies at this point that he couldn't seem to fathom anyone willing to help.

“Fish Mooney. Ivy knew where to find her, and she had information we didn't. She led us to where you and Bridgit were being kept, and help us break in...” Victor began. Oswald bolted upright and moved off the bed and to his feet, staring at him.

“Fish!? You went to **her**?” He squawked in indignation, hands balling into fists. Victor didn't react outright. She had warned the two that he would be upset, so he found it better to let him pace and rant.

“Out of all the people you could have chosen to speak to about me, you chose her? What did she want in return? Are you going to turn me over to her? Are YOU going to leave me to work for her?” Oswald rambled, his foot dragging as he paced. “She did this to me, you know. She ruined my leg because she was angry at me. And I threw her off a building for it. The fact that we're both alive is nothing short of miraculous, but terrible; she would never let me have Gotham! Now that she knows I'm not dead she'll...”

“She was relieved that you're alive, Oswald,” Victor interrupted him after a few brief moments of watching him pace, shifting carefully to sit upright. “She said she wants to work with you. With us.”

Oswald's movement stopped, and he looked to him, eyes wide once again. Disbelief, or something else?

“... Work with us? Are you sure you were speaking to Mooney? The Fish I know would **never** share the spotlight. She would sooner kill me.” Oswald said.

“If her aim was to kill you, don't you think she would have done it last night, after we finally found you? You were so vulnerable, Oswald. You were asleep here with the door unlocked and wide open. She could have burned the place down with the four of us in it if she wanted us gone. I believe her, Oswald. She seemed nothing but sincere. She said that dying put things into perspective for her... that she wants to rule Gotham with you.” Victor told him, trying to calm the man down before his anger took an irrational edge.

“Of course you would believe her. She could convince a dog it was a cat if she wanted to,” Oswald moved back to the bed to sit, staring down at his own hands. “or a bird that it was worthy of being a King.”

“I know that she has powers now, and that she can use them to control people's minds... she never touched Ivy or myself, if that's what you're worried about.” Victor said softly. Oswald chuckled, shaking his head.

“It doesn't take powers for her to be persuasive. Fish Mooney is a force of nature, not just a woman with unnatural powers. Do you truly trust her?” Oswald looked up at him.

“I believe her.” Victor confirmed. “I believe that she was being honest. If it was some scheme and I was wrong, you can throw _me_ off a building.”

“... I would have to get a running start. You're much bigger than she is.” There was a little smirk beginning to form there.

“I would stand on one leg to make it easier.” Victor offered, grinning at him. His reward was Oswald's laughter... and with the next statement, his trust.

“Fine, fine. Since you've offered so kindly to let me end you should this go awry, I'll take the bargain. I suppose she gave you some means to contact her?” Oswald said, his words starting with an airy giggle, rolling his eyes lightly.

Victor, smiling, reached into the pocket where he had stashed the phone. He took it, opening it and searching for the number. As Oswald sat on the bed, calling Fish, Victor considered the way the conversation had gone, and how quickly he was able to diffuse the often volatile man. Though he knew that Oswald was an expert at gauging reactions and adjusting his tone to suit a situation, Victor had never felt like Oswald did that with him. He was always open with his feelings, good or bad... And that Oswald had chosen to trust Victor's intuition so quickly made his heart soar.

“I hear you helped my people find me.” Victor half-listened to the conversation; he wasn't able to hear Fish's voice, but contextual clues filled in the blanks. Oswald's face was a visual map for his emotions; amusement, irritation, pride, joy, and countless others wrote their stories in his features. As he spoke to Fish, every part of his demeanor went soft. It was the way one spoke to a relative they had been missing for ages, or another loved one who had suddenly returned after a long absence. 

“Of course I'm alive. You should know first hand how hard it is to kill me.”

It was strange to hear him speak so casually about his betrayals. It was as if he had accepted them as the status quo, and had shifted his perspective accordingly to take pride in his ability to avoid death when someone inevitably back-stabbed him. Victor would never let that happen again, not as long as he still lived.

“... I suppose you wouldn't tell me something I could use against you so easily if you weren't sincere. I have every right to be paranoid though, you can't deny that! Our history is as rocky as you say, after all. And everyone I've dealt with in the past seems hell bent on destroying my life...”

Victor hoped that Fish was as sincere as she seemed in her desire to team up with Oswald, not only for his sake, but for Victor's as well. He was taking a risk in trusting her, and though he had no other option at the time but to believe her, there was always a chance that risk would blow up in his face. The conversation came to a swift close as Oswald relayed an address to the woman on the line.

“Yes... I'll see you then.” Oswald said softly as he hung up, looking to Victor.

“We're going to meet with her... the four of us.” Oswald said, handing the phone back.

“When?” He asked.

“Tonight. We'll meet at Ivy's greenhouse.” Oswald said, “It's a more neutral area then her hideout or my father's manor.”

“Do you trust her?” Victor asked.

“About as far as I can throw her... but as I've mentioned, I once threw her off a building, so I would say that means I place more in her more than most.” Oswald chuckled. Victor smirked.

“I hope it isn't misplaced, then. But if it turns out it is... I'm still with you.” He said.

“Thank you, Victor. That means a lot to me. I'm not sure what caused you to be so protective of me, but... it's relieving.” Oswald began, biting his lower lip just a little. On impulse, Victor brought a hand up to touch his cheek, giving a little tap to his lower lip with his thumb.

“You're going to hurt yourself doing that.” He said. Setting his lip free from between his teeth, Oswald gave a little laugh, bringing a hand up to rest over Victor's. Even through the gloves, he could feel Oswald's warmth. It was as radiant as his smile and as captivating as his eyes. Such warmth could kill him if he wasn't careful, but he found himself not minding the idea of such an end.

“You're a strange man, Victor. But I'm happy to have you by my side.” He said.

“And that's where I'll stay. Oswald, I...” Victor pushed aside the pervasive worry and self-doubt that normally held his tongue. He needed to tell Oswald how much he cared while he had a chance, before the chaos of their city once again forced them apart, “I care for you, Oswald. I know we haven't known one another for a long time, but when I couldn't find you, I... I was terrified. I understand if you don't feel the same, or if it makes you uncomfortable, but I swear that what I feel is genuine and that I...”

“Victor...” Oswald began, staring up at him with wonder written in his eyes. He spoke his name so softly, with a delicacy that few would imagine him capable of.

They were both cut short by a sharp yelp from the other room that caused Victor to bolt off the bed.

“Oswald! Victor!” Bridgit yelled from the other room. Her voice was sharp and panicked in a way that was unlike her. The noise jarred Ivy from her deep sleep. She and Oswald rose from the bed in the same breath as Victor moved towards the door.

There, he saw the girl lifted off the floor, held against the body of a broad man, arm tight around her shoulders and the barrel of a gun pressed firmly to her temple. Victor's jaw went tight. Beside him was a tall, thin man with features that were sharp and easily recognizable under a bowler hat. Edward Nygma, Oswald's former chief-in-staff. Victor's hands twitched at his side where his cryo-gun was attached. To draw his weapon would endanger the girl. Bridgit was unperturbed by the gun to her head, kicking and struggling against the man that Victor didn't recognize.

“Where is he!” Edward shouted at Victor, pointing a little gun at him. The thing was almost comically small in his hands, but Victor knew better than to laugh.

“Butch! Put her down at _once_!” Oswald yelled, moving to Victor's side, eyes wide once again but this time with unabashed rage.

“It's been five hours, Oswald. I'm here to kill you.” Edward snapped, a grin curling his lips.

“She wasn't part of our agreement, Edward – make your gorilla put her down!” Oswald screeched, stomping a foot as Edward approached.

“Do you think I care? It's just insurance to make sure this...” He waved his gun towards Victor in a way that was a bit theatrical, “Statuesque monster doesn't attack me. I want you to accept your fate _gracefully_ , Oswald.”

Oswald moved closer to Edward, staring up at him. Victor watched, itching to act, to move, to do something at all to help the girl who couldn't break free. He wanted to punish them both for daring to interrupt their peace. Oswald's cocky assailant stared at the smaller man, too fixated on his face to notice that Oswald's hand was in his pocket. Victor only glanced there, not wanting to give away anything, trusting Oswald to act in his stead. As Oswald looked up, Victor could see him smirk.

“Good to see you're as cowardly as ever, using a defenseless young girl as a contingency plan, Edward.” Oswald spat. Teeth gritting, Edward reached a hand down to grab his hair, pulling his head back.

“Don't. Call. Me. Edward. My name is  _Riddler_.” Edward snarled, pressing the gun to his chest with the other hand.

“What a stupid name. And what a stupid plan, coming to a safehouse of mine knowing full well that I **always** have a trick up my sleeve. Or, as it happens, in my pocket.” Oswald removed his hand from his trouser pocket.

In it was a remote that bore a single button. When that button was pressed, a siren began to blare, and the lights shone red and bright. The noise shocked the one Oswald called Butch, giving Bridgit enough time to throw an elbow back, catching him in the temple and stunning him. She ran towards them when his hold was loosened. Victor pulled her back behind him once she got close enough, and Oswald laughed as thick metal plating slammed down over the windows and front doorway. He brought a hand up quickly, chopping Edward in the throat in order to break away. Once free, Oswald moved back towards Victor, shoving him bodily through the bedroom door.

“Run!” Oswald commanded as he went through as well.

Victor obeyed, doubling back just in time to hear Edward screaming as the next armored door slammed shut on the tip of his toe.

“No, no! Damnit, Oswald! I'll get you! You can't hide from me!” Edward yelled, voice hoarse from the blow to his throat, fists slamming against the unyielding metal. A few shots went off as he tried to shoot his way through.

Oswald led the three through a door that had opened in the back of the apartment and down a flight of stairs that led to the back alley. Victor brought up the rear, making sure the girls were out first. Adrenaline pounded through his bloodstream as they made it out and Oswald leaned against the wall, tossing the remote down and smashing it underfoot. Victor looked Bridgit over, frowning.

“Are you alright?” He asked. She nodded hard, mute and furious.

“It won't be long before he gets out of there. It should hold him long enough for us to get away... We have to get back to the greenhouse and meet up with Fish.” Oswald said as he stomped the remote.

“How are we going to get back there? It's too far on foot, and we'd be painfully obvious if we even tried it...” Victor frowned, worried about the details.

“Well, we have to ensure that it takes them a while to get anywhere, too. Let's find their car.” Oswald suggested.

Victor pushed ahead, moving to the street and looking around. The only car in front of the building was an expensive looking town-car. Ivy moved towards it instantly, running a hand along the side.

“Nice car... We don't have the keys, though.” Victor mumbled lamely.

He jumped a little as Bridgit moved forward and smashed the passenger side window with the barrel of her flamethrower.

“You haven't been a criminal very long, have you Freeze-pop?” Ivy laughed as Bridget opened the door and unlocked the car, moving to the drivers seat and leaning down and in.

“I – no, I haven't.” Victor muttered, choosing to busy himself sweeping out the broken glass.

“Ivy... You know how to hotwire a car?” Oswald asked, head tilted to a side.

“Yup! Cat taught me!” She said, her tone cheerful as could be.

“That's useful.” He commented in return.

Once they were able to, they piled into the car and left the scene. Victor fidgeted in his seat a little, wondering where the conversation would have gone if the interruption hadn't happened. Oswald didn't seem offended by the confession or even a little put off. The way he had spoken his name stuck in Victor's mind. It was breathy and soft but said in a way that he couldn't decipher. Would he have followed up with a gentle admonishment, or would he have returned the sentiment?

As they made their way to the greenhouse, Victor found himself once again left wondering.

 


	10. His Brief Reprieve

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Freak Family return to the greenhouse for some much needed relaxation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I truly apologize for the amount of time it took for me to write this. I've had a lot of life stuff going on and I had a brief stint of writer's block. I'm through it now though, and here's a longer chapter to make up for it. <3 
> 
> If you're still enjoying this, please consider commenting! Thanks.

“Do you think he'll find us here?” Ivy asked as they moved as a group into the greenhouse.

“Yes.” Oswald replied, shrugging a shoulder.

“... Really?” Ivy's eyes went wide, eyes widening in concern. Victor couldn't tell if the concern stemmed from worry over her new family or fear that Edward and Butch's appearance would prove deadly to her garden. Realistically, he assumed it was both.

“Yes. He's a smart and intensely paranoid man, I'm sure he had some backup for this possibility. He might have known we would take the car. He may have assumed I had some trap in the safehouse...” Oswald replied. He didn't sound upset about it in the way that most people would while being hunted, but Oswald was hardly like others. There was little in the way of emotion in his voice, in fact, just a sort of disconnected thoughtfulness.

“When is Mooney coming to the greenhouse?” Victor asked. They needed some sort of plan in case Edward and Butch showed up before she did.

“Four o'clock, and it's a little after eight now,” Oswald said. “We have eight hours in which he could possibly turn up. After that, we'll have Fish and whatever following she's managed to gather since I last saw her.”

“Well, that's a good amount of time... Is everyone hungry? There's still food in the refrigerator, right Ivy?” Victor looked to the girl, who sat at his side. The question was partially out of concern for the needs of his little family, partially out of a sudden and desperate need to change the subject.

“Uh, I think so. And yes, I'm **starving**.” Ivy squeaked out the last bit of her statement with a hint of reverence.

“You all must be, I doubt the two of you were treated well in that prison... and we didn't exactly stop to rest yesterday.” Victor smiled as they pulled up to the greenhouse.

“I could eat.” Bridgit mumbled from where she stared out the window, deep contemplation etched into the textured surface of the young woman's face. Victor assumed she was brooding about the incident at the safehouse, making a mental note to speak to her later on.

“The three of you wash up, I'll make breakfast.” Victor told them as they emptied out of the car and moved towards their secondary home.

As Victor made his way wordlessly to the kitchen and began the process of cooking for the three who had filed in just as silently, he once more found himself lost in thought. His mind drifted to Oswald as he began to cook the eggs - but perhaps it wasn't right to say it drifted when it had yet to leave the subject? He had fallen asleep with thoughts of him, woken with them, sat in the car and traveled with them. It was beginning to scare him how often Oswald dominated his thoughts in the way that Norman used to. It felt good to be possessed by the thought of someone who still breathed, but at the same time it felt unfaithful.

It felt perfectly correct and infinitely wrong.

There was a constant war that raged within Victor since he had met Oswald, one with no end in sight. Over a year he had been without Norman, and Oswald's appearance had turned everything he knew upside down. The main thing he had flipped on its head had been the notion that Norman was his entire world and without him, he was nothing. Oswald had dashed that, coming into his life and pulling him from the depths of his personal torment, putting him to work, giving him a purpose. He had spoken to him with honesty, been so delicate when speaking of Norman. When he had given Oswald some indication of how he felt, Oswald's reaction had been so breathtaking.

He couldn't shake the feeling that he was betraying his lost love, that he could have done more to save him and now he was pining over his brother. Logically he knew that he had done everything within his power – and than even more than that – but it didn't dull the ache that came when he thought of how deeply Norman had loved him. He had never thought himself worthy of that much affection. How could he have been, when his own parents couldn't stand to be around him? Victor had never known love the way Norman had shown him. That the universe saw fit to give him a glimpse into that feeling seemed cruel now.

Victor flipped the pancakes as they began to bubble, the sharp shake of his head dashing away the tears that welled to the surface. How was it possible for one man to be so conflicted? He hated being so delicate, so weak. Was he so starved for affection that he was so quick to plunge himself into the arms of his dead husband's brother so quickly after his death? Anger welled up inside him which he let out by slamming a fist against the counter.

“Woah, you okay?” He heard Ivy's voice behind him, soft and careful.

“Ivy – yes, sorry. Just thinking about some things – how to deal with Edward and Butch.” He lied.

“You're a crappy liar, snow-cone.” Ivy leaned on the counter he had just struck, looking up at him.

“I know.” Victor replied lamely, deciding that it wasn't worth the effort to try to throw her off his track; not when she already knew he was preoccupied with irritating thoughts.

“You still stuck on the whole husband-Oswald thing?” She said it softly, wanting to keep his secret.

“I am.” He mumbled in return, beginning to stack pancakes on to a plate.

“Don't you remember what I said before, you big frosty softy?” Ivy pouted at him, but he refused to make eye contact.

“I told him this morning.” He replied, and his gift in return was the sound of Ivy squeaking in excitement as she hopped up to sit on the counter.

“What did he say? Are you gonna get together? Oh my god, that would be so cute, you t--” She began to ramble.

“He couldn't say anything. Butch and Edward showed up right after I told him. I have no idea how he feels.” He interrupted her rant.

“Damnit!” She folded her arms over her chest.

“Language.” Victor warned, shaking his head as he piled bacon on to another plate.

“Sorry.” She was meek suddenly, watching him. “Maybe you could talk after breakfast about it?”

“He has other things to worry about, and so do we. If they come back before Fish does, we have to be ready and not distracted by... petty emotional things.” Victor muttered.

“It isn't petty and you're already worried and distracted by it! I swear to god if you weren't so much bigger than me I would smack you.” Ivy protested. Victor raised a brow.

“I wouldn't hit you back, Ivy. Please don't hit me, though, you might hurt your hand on my suit.” Victor frowned at her statement.

“Yeah yeah. You're just trying to avoid the pain.” She giggled, shifting off the counter. “Breakfast almost ready?”

“Yes. Gather the troops, please.” He asked, hoping to avoid the rest of the conversation; Ivy was too fixated on her hunger to press the issue any further.

Breakfast was eaten by the three mostly in ravenous silence save for the occasional request for more of something. Oswald became hyper-focused on his plate, eating as he often did like a man starved for weeks. Ivy was slow and meticulous with her pancakes, but jammed bacon into her mouth like pigs were going extinct. Bridgit ate with anger still stewing in her, stabbing her eggs, stabbing her pancakes, stabbing her bacon before taking bites. Victor always thought you could learn a lot about a person by the way they ate, and a look around the small table was quite telling.

With the two girls there a private conversation with Oswald wasn't possible, and he seemed to be too deep in his own thoughts anyway. Instead, he turned his attention to Bridgit, whose sour look had yet to falter. She made brief eye contact before looking back down, brows furrowing.

“Why are you eyeballing me, Freeze?” She muttered.

“Are you okay?” He asked. Her eyes shot back up as if the question had taken her far off guard.

“What? I'm fine.” She said it too quickly for it to be sincere.

“You look angry. I was just wondering.” Victor put his hands up for a moment in defense.

“Of course I'm angry.” She stabbed a hefty piece of pancake and thrust it into her mouth.

“About earlier?” He pried carefully. Her temper was a healthy personification of the nature of fire; strong, bright, tempestuous. He didn't want to step over the line if she wasn't ready to talk.

“What the hell do you think? I fell asleep and that big idiot got in because I wasn't watching. He had a gun to my head. I hate it – I hate **him** , I hate... **men**!” Her anger was boiling over. She threw her fork to the plate, pushing her seat out from the table.

“Rude. So do I though, really.” Oswald muttered around a bite of toast. He didn't seem bothered by her explosion.

“Not you! Not even **you** , Victor! Just – men like Butch! Guys who think it's okay to hurt people just because they're big, and, and...” She began to pace, hand going to her hip on reflex to touch her gun.

“Bridgy...” Ivy watched the girl, frowning softly.

“They got in because **I** fell asleep, because **I** didn't take them out when the chance presented itself! Now we're stuck here waiting for them to show up, and what'll happen if we don't get them this time? Maybe he'll put a bullet in my brain and -” She began to fume.

Oswald had stood up the moment her hand touched the barrel of the flamethrower. Oswald stepped in front of her and put his hands on her shoulders.

“Bridgit. You're allowed to sleep just like the rest of us. You didn't know they would come. I did, and I should have warned you but _I_ was asleep. But you did alert us, and we got out of there. Edward was going to come for me one way or another, I just should have known he would bring that gorilla with him. If he had managed to put a bullet in you I would have taken great pleasure in cutting off all his other limbs. Slowly. I would feed him his own eyes, Bridgit, if he had killed you. But he didn't, so I will leave that pleasure to you. If we capture him at some point, he's _yours_. Him and any other man who dares to cross you, I will give them to you for you to burn to your hearts content.” Oswald told her, voice firm enough to get her attention. His words were harsher than Victor would have liked, but that was just Oswald's nature. It spoke to Bridgit in a way that Victor's gentleness had been unable to, muscles in her face relaxing and hand falling from the gun.

“I'm going to be pissed if someone kills him before I do.” She muttered.

“I'll do everything I can to ensure that he's yours. Now sit down and eat, wasting food is a sin.” Oswald muttered; Victor never met the other man's mother, but he expected that was a phrase he grew up hearing.

“You ain't my mother.” Bridgit looked at him. Oswald stared at her for a moment.

“No, but we're family, so sit down and eat.” Oswald told her, bringing up a finger to touch her nose, smirking as he did so. With furrowed brows, Bridgit actually laughed, moving away to sit as Oswald said.

Victor was glad that Oswald was able to calm the girl. It took a different touch to soothe Bridgit than it took to calm Ivy the day before. Victor found himself smiling as he watched the two strike up a conversation; though the topic was revenge and torture, they were animated again, smiling. Their strange little family had its own way of coping already. Victor hoped sincerely that they could stay like this, with himself and Oswald as stand in father figures to the teens. Once Edward was out of the picture and Oswald's status as top dog restored, perhaps Victor could even see about getting them some schooling in case villainy didn't work out. It wasn't exactly a sustainable career choice, and the two were extremely talented in their own ways.

Victor's earlier internal strife was set aside by flighty dreams of a future with his new family. He spent the next few hours locked in daydreams of a life by their sides, of a future where Oswald had grown to love him rather than that strange green clad man. He fought down the twisted tinge of jealousy and anger that surfaced when he thought of Edward, who had Oswald's love and either didn't want it or couldn't see it. He understood where the adoration stemmed from; he and Edward had been as thick as thieves, and when Oswald cared about someone he seemed to put them over everything else. In Oswald’s eyes, his mother and father were practically saints, and Victor could only imagine how he behaved when he and Edward were in the privacy of the manor.

And Victor did imagine. He imagined how gentle Oswald became, how soft and attentive he would behave when in the atmosphere of his object of affection. He imagined that the small man might become infinitely possessive, protective of what he considered “his”. Victor found himself longing to be his, to be gathered into Oswald’s gravitational pull, the magnitude of his personality enough to bend Victor to his will with a simple request. Not that Victor would consider refusing in the first place. He wondered if Oswald became less harsh when he basked in the warmth that love provided, if when he felt safe and cared for that he would show a side that Victor had seen only brief glimpses of before. He imagined Oswald becoming almost doting in the right circumstances, doing little things to ensure the wellbeing of his lover like making sure they slept well, or setting out their clothing for the following days.

What was Oswald’s love? Was it hot and cold, the way he could be sometimes? Did it burn bright like a dying star before becoming a singularity, sapping all life around it? Or was it as consistent and warm as the rising of the sun? Victor hoped for the latter, but wasn’t entirely put off by the idea of the former. He would be happy just to have the chance to love him, regardless of what that meant in the long run. Norman would forgive him for his betrayal if it meant that Victor could be happy again, even if it was only for a little while.

But before anything, he **needed** to know what Oswald was going to say before they were interrupted.

Finishing his overly-thorough cleaning of the kitchen and dining area, Victor took in a deep breath, resolving to go and find him once again. It didn't take much to do so; Oswald was busy rambling to Ivy about the injustices of his situation, bemoaning the lack of loyalty among the current criminal elite. In his hand was a tumbler full of clear liquor. It made Victor chuckle a little; drinking at least meant that Oswald was trying to relax.

Ivy spotted Victor before Oswald did, smiling to him.

“Hi!” She whispered as Oswald continued his speech.

“Can I have a little time alone with him?” Victor asked her softly. Without comment or judgment, Ivy gave a little nod, abandoning her plants for the time being and walking away.

“Ivy? Where are you going?” Oswald snapped.

“She'll be back.” Victor said, moving closer.

Oswald's eyes went wide when Victor walked in, hand held in stasis midway through pulling the drink to his lips. He smiled, his very recent annoyance pushed aside at Victor's appearance. The thought alone was enough to embolden the taller man, who moved to Oswald's side, glancing down at him. Oswald watched intently, setting down his glass.

“I was hoping we could continue the conversation from before.” Victor began, trying to dash the hesitation from his voice.

“I was as well.” Oswald's eyes lowered from his for the briefest of moments before raising again. He watched Victor through those long lashes of his, struck with a sudden timidity.

“You were?” Victor couldn't restrain his smile. Had it been on Oswald's mind the way it had his own?

“Yes. To get right to it... I – I don't know why you care about me, Victor.” Oswald shook his head as he spoke.

“Life has taught me to cherish what I have, Oswald... There's something about you that intrigues me. You can be so powerful and so gentle at the same time – and I know part of this is presumption on my part, and that I haven't known you long enough to really **know** you...” Victor began, trailing off as Oswald began to cut into his speech.

“It's because I look like him, isn't it?” Oswald said it sharply, hand going back down to take hold of his liquor glass. His words cut Victor in a way he hadn't expected.

“I – when I first saw you, I hated you, actually. I hated that you looked like him but were so different when he had died not long before. It felt like the universe was playing a cruel joke,” Victor began, “But then I got to know you. Trust me, I've had the same worries... Norman was everything to me. But I can't bring him back, and I know he wouldn't want me to spend my entire life mourning him.”

“How can you be so sure that what you're feeling isn't just... leftovers from him?” Oswald asked. His tone was flat, as if he had forced a lack of affect into it. His words were punctuated by the quick ingestion of the remains of his glass.

“Because I know you aren't him.” Victor said simply.

“How could I compete with Norman? The way you speak of him, the things you went through trying to save him... ” Oswald looked up to him, green eyes heavy with a sadness that seemed to come from somewhere deep within the small man.

“It isn't a competition, Oswald... It wouldn't be fair to either of you to even make comparisons when you're two very different people. I'll never stop loving him, Oswald --” Victor said, and Oswald went wide eyed.

“I would never expect you to stop! He was your husband...” He said, shifting to stand up.

“I'll never stop loving him, but that doesn't mean that I have to stop living my life. That doesn't mean that I'm going to let another chance at happiness slip away from me. I don't do well on my own. I know that Ed hurt you – and I'm going to help you get your revenge. But I don't want to stop being around you after. I want to know you better, Oswald, I want to learn how to make you happy too. You've been hurt so much in your life...” Victor couldn't stop the words from pouring out in an unorganized smattering of wishes and affections. He damned his inability to string together a cohesive thought when he knew he was intelligent, damned how stupid he sounded. His brows furrowed, embarrassed by his own fumbling.

“Love made me weak, Victor. I let Edward take advantage of me because I loved him. I let him manipulate me, I – I would have given my life to him! I can never let myself get lost like that again.” Oswald insisted, voice taking on that high, almost panicked tone that meant his secret fears were beginning to pour to the surface. Victor couldn't allow him to throw himself into a panic; Oswald needed to stay calm in case the day went south. He did the only thing he could think of. Leaning forward, reaching out, Victor pulled the small man into his arms, binding him up in the safety of his hold.

“Love can be a strength, Oswald. Love means there are two people to share the burdens of life. It means comfort, protection...” He said softly. “And anyone who loved you wouldn't let you become lost.”

“It's just something people could use against me. If someone tried to hurt you, because of me...” Oswald squeaked out against his chest, eyes closing. He didn't move to return the hug, but Victor swore he could feel the tension draining from his body regardless.

“I can protect myself, Oswald. I'm not exactly defenseless... Honestly, people seem more intent on trying to kill you, so if anything, I'm the one who should worry.” Victor was half-joking, trying to lighten the mood while at the same time battling his own thoughts. He wasn't sure what Oswald's reaction meant; was it a rejection or an admission of likewise feelings?

“It's a good thing I'm difficult to get rid of.” Oswald quipped bitterly, looking up at him, “I'm going to have a hard time trusting your words, Victor. This past year has... sort of put me through the ringer. What if I'm not able to give you whatever it is that you need?”

“I'm not asking you to marry me or profess love to me, Oswald. I'm not even asking you to date me, not unless you're ready. I just want you to know that I'm here, and that I care for you. And if you feel the same at some point... I'll be here. I'm not leaving you.” Victor pulled back to look down at him, hands resting on his shoulders.

“I care for you, too, Victor. I don't know what I did to deserve your affection, but I... I will work on trusting you. I hope you can be patient with me.” Oswald mumbled, staring up at him with those beautiful eyes. Every time Oswald looked at him that way Victor's breath caught in his throat, transfixed by how gorgeous he was.

“I'll prove that you can trust me.” Victor vowed. Oswald _cared_ about him. He actually felt something for Victor, something real and significant, and though any relationship would take time to work up to, Victor was over the moon.

“When that time comes, I hope you can forgive me for not trusting you in the first place.” Oswald leaned in to hug him, then - to actually hug him, arm sliding around his midsection where he was less heavily armored and embracing him. His arms were tight around Victor, a tangible feeling that would stay with him for some time. He hoped that he could someday hold him without the protective layers between them, to feel his warmth without the possibility of being hurt by it.

“There’s nothing to forgive, Oswald. If you can understand that I will always love Norman, I can understand that it’s hard for you to allow yourself to let any part of your guard down.” Victor reassured him, bringing a hand up to stroke gently through his hair.

“As long as you never compare me to him. I can’t spend all my time wondering how I measure up to someone long gone. I did enough of that with Edward.” Oswald said, gripping him tightly, as if he needed Victor to anchor him to the ground. Victor held him around the shoulders as he smoothed his hair, which had become frizzy and tangled during his frazzled state.

“The only comparison I could ever make is your looks. You’re totally different people and I know that.” Victor smiled, pulling away just enough to look down at the small man, regarding him with a joy in his heart that he hadn’t felt in ages. Happiness had been a distant memory for Victor before he and Oswald had joined forces, one he had come to regard as fleeting and cruel. Now that Oswald had confessed his own feelings, however, Victor was ready to plunge himself headfirst into the feeling, to let it envelop him entirely.

So wrapped up in the feeling of the comfort and safety of one anothers holds that neither saw the two women and two men walk in, each wielding a gun. Just as Oswald said, Edward and his cohorts had appeared before Fish could arrive, a self-fulfilling prophecy that strolled into the greenhouse looking vaguely like a scene out of an old time mobster flick.

Their brief break from the chaos of life had come to an end.

Victor was ready.

 


	11. His Violent Encounter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Victor and Oswald are rudely interrupted.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a bit shorter than I've posted recently, but I figured the scene needed its own chapter. 
> 
> Thank you again for reading, and once again, comments are loved. :D

“Well, well, well... What a scene to walk in on.” Edward sneered as he walked slowly towards the two.

Oswald broke away from Victor, standing in front of him as if he held the intent to protect him from what the man might do. Victor looked between the four, trying to size up the situation as Oswald moved forward, directly into the pool of danger that had arrived uninvited. The scene was a perfect representation of how Oswald approached his fears. Rather than move aside or try to avoid them, he waded into the depths. It was not out of courage, Victor imagined, but out of his ever-present need to prove himself.

He would stare the Grim Reaper down on tiptoe if it showed the world he was not to be trifled with. Victor respected it, but it terrified him in that instant. Being with Oswald meant facing down his own fears as headstrong and reckless as he did, and safeguarding him in the process. Oswald's cunning and violence were his sword, fearsome and swift... but Victor would be his shield, steadfast and strong.

He weighed his options as he listened to the interaction.

“You must be **very** proud of yourself, Ed...” Oswald began, staring straight up at the tall man, so close they were practically touching. Victor might be a little jealous were it not for the rage in Oswald's eyes.

“I often am. Prouder today, even... My timing was impeccable. We arrived just in time to break up your little lovefest. Astonishing how quickly you moved on from that seemingly _undying_ love you had for me, isn't it?” Ed snarled, shoving the gun into Oswald's chest. Was he angry that Oswald was no longer in love with him? That was just plain stupid, in Victor's narrowed eyes. Why would Oswald still be fixated on him? He tried to kill him!

“I would advise you to leave now before I make good on my promise to kill you.” Oswald was undeterred.

“You think you’re going to kill me? I’m the one with the power in this situation, Oswald. The only reason I haven’t killed you already is because I want one thing from you before you die for good…” Edward pushed the barrel of the gun against the smaller man’s chest. The situation was delicate; one false move and he ran the risk of that little gun tearing open a new hole in Oswald's sternum. He couldn't, _wouldn't_ lose him, not now, not ever if he could help it.

In that moment, Victor was able to see Ivy creeping into the larger portion of the greenhouse, a potted plant in her hands. Victor's eyes widened as she moved towards Butch, staring intently at him as she raised it sharply and back down, cracking it on to the man's head. He yelled in surprise and pain, but did not fall, turning to face the girl, face contorting into a vile grimace as he raised his gun. Victor was no longer able to think; now was time for action, as the bold girl had demonstrated.

Rather than moving to freeze the man, which might have taken too long, Victor chose to run at him instead, a powerhouse of thick armor hiding a powerful form. His time in the North had toned his body, giving him the physical strength necessary to take down Butch, normally an immovable object. Heavy boots slammed against the floor as he propelled himself towards his mark, barreling into the thick-set man with the singular purpose of removing his attention from his girl.

Ivy moved out of the way just in time for Butch's body to hit the floor, a toppled Goliath with a surprisingly quick reaction time. He threw an elbow back, immediately attempting to roll out from under Victor, who threw a punch to the side of his head. It connected in a way that made Gilzean scream. It was a dirty tactic to punch someone square in the ear, but an effective one, especially when Victor did it a second time. Butch screamed, using his weight to shove Victor off just as he caught sight of Tabitha raising up her whip.

“Who the hell punches someone in the ear!?” She yelled, pulling back on the whip, rounding it up to strike Victor down while he fumbled for purchase on the floor.

Victor braced himself, but the hit never came. He looked up to see Ivy there, both arms wrapped around Tabitha's one to stop her swing, eyes clenched shut in anticipation of some retaliation. Tabitha stared at her, confounded by the girl's willingness to put herself in the line of fire... Victor could almost see a bit of recognition there. Barbara yelled in frustration, cocking her gun and jamming it directly into the girl's temple, leaning in close.

“You'd better let her go, little girl.” She said.

“Barbara, no.” Tabitha said, confoundingly. She was preventing the blonde from hurting Ivy? Victor didn't understand, but chose not to question as the two women stared each other down.

“Yeah, don't even think about it or I'll light up that pretty little head of yours. Victor, you better save him for me – you remember what Penguin said.” Bridgit had come in unnoticed, the barrel of her flamethrower pressed tight to Barbara's head. Barbara, knowing she was outmatched, lifted her hands into the air, though she still hold the gun tight. Bridgit reached a hand over and slapped it out of her closed fist.

Butch, who had come in without one, reached for the weapon as it slid across the floor. Victor kicked it away as quickly as he could, moving to his feet with far more ease than Butch was able to. His head had to have been ringing from Victor's blows, because he stumbled a number of times before even getting to a knee... and by that time, Victor had taken hold of the cryo-gun, pointing it directly at his forehead. Realizing he was stuck, Butch raised his hands as well, muttering a 'damnit' under his breath.

It was a strange sort of stalemate they had reached. Tabitha's arm was held firmly by Ivy, but her gun was now pointed at Victor. Barbara was held up by Bridgit, who was within arms reach of Butch, who was held up by Victor. The six held their positions, and in the odd calm of the moment, the conversation between Edward and Oswald continued.

“.. I'll take option B, _Ed_. Since saying that ridiculous name would be **torture** itself!” Oswald snapped, his voice full of bile and mockery.

“Fine. Slow... and painful... it shall be!” Edward snapped, the sound of Oswald's voice getting under the man's skin in a way that made him come unhinged. A hand snapped forward, pulling his head down and to the side as he cold metal of the gangly man's gun slid along Oswald's jawline in a way that was almost... sensual? Edward clearly had some unresolved feelings towards the smaller man that would take even an excellent therapist many years to work out.

Victor's adrenaline took a turn, shifting his energy and the feeling in his gut to panic. It would take one slip up and Oswald would be – no, Edward wouldn't kill him right there. The sick bastard had some sadistic, masturbatory need to make him suffer. But would Edward leave without his crew at his back? Victor was unaware of the dynamic between the four. Were they tightly knit, like the other four? The feeling of powerlessness welled up in him as he watched Oswald staring up at Ed. To move from his position would put the others at risk, so he was forced to watch, paralyzed as –

The room went silent as a noise was heard. A door had been opened.

“This is a trap!?” Barbara snapped, looking between her enemies.

“No, not exactly.” It was the smooth, vaguely amused voice of Fish Mooney that lilted through the space between them.

Fish was a vision in red fur and high boots, striding into the greenhouse proper with no rush to her steps. All movement ceased as all eyes turned to her, her appearance a shock even to those who knew she was coming. She was flanked by burly men wielding military grade weapons that could easily mow down the entire room. Fish gave the barest of smirks as the room went silent, and those who were holding up others with the silent promise of shooting them lowered their weapons. Victor shifted on his feet. There was something intimidating about Mooney despite her diminutive size.

It clicked for Victor at that moment that she must be part of the reason that Oswald was the way he was. To stand in her small but overpowering shadow must have taught him that even the small of stature could break a man, as long as their reputation indicated it. She was as inspiring as she was terrifying, much like Oswald.

“Now see that there? That’s a look of respect… Or is it fear?” Fish said as she moved towards Oswald, her steps resounding on the hard floors, looking him over.

“Hey Fish… How ya been?” Butch, still on the floor, was grinning as if Fish had renewed his life expectancy with her appearance.

“Well, let’s see… I was alive, and then I was dead. And then I was alive again. Things are looking up.” Fish's stride moved her towards the group slowly, ensuring all eyes were firmly on her.

“You have to love Gotham... People always pointing guns at each other.” She said.

“Fish... You're early.” Oswald murmured, voice laden with equal parts awe and confusion. To that, she glanced to and fro once before settling dual colored eyes on him.

“It looks to me like I'm right on time.” She commented, looking to Edward.

“And you... Who or whatever you are. Please excuse us. My little Penguin and I will be leaving now.” She brushed her sharp-nailed fingers over Oswald's cheek. Victor couldn't tell if the gesture was out of affection or a sense of ownership.

“What about them?” Oswald said softly.

“Why would I leave them behind, boy? Your family is my family.” She raised a brow at his question. A crooked grin formed on Oswald's lips, and he looked to the rest.

With Edward, Tabitha, and Butch completely dumbfounded by the appearance of the dead woman, Ivy, Bridgit, Victor and Oswald took their leave, unhindered by those who fought for their deaths mere moments before. The trip back to Fish's hideout was silent save for a few soft questions between the four asking if the others were okay. Oswald sat pressed to Victor's side, fidgeting a little, fingers drumming his thighs. Nervous energy practically poured off of the small man.

Without a word exchanged between them, Victor removed a glove and took hold of Oswald's hand, linking their bare fingers together to stop his squirming. Oswald drew in a breath and looked up at him momentarily, eyes glassy and vivid in color. Victor's hands were cool to the touch, not as cold as one might expect. Oswald's fingers were colder than his, as if the blood had drained from his extremities due to the stress of the day.

Victor met his gaze with a smile, giving his hand a gentle squeeze.

Oswald's starstruck gaze relaxed into a content smile. He turned his attention forward again, laying his head against Victor's shoulder. Their hands warmed each others as they drove to the hideout, the peace of the moment soothing their worries for the time being.

Victor swore he could hear Ivy giggling and whispering to Bridgit in the seats behind them.


	12. His Quiet Moments

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Family arrives at Mooney's hideout to plan and rest.

The situation Gotham found itself in was dire in a way that Victor had never fathomed could happen. Sure, there was violence, there were gang wars, but nothing like what Fish described to them once they were safe in the abandoned church. She spoke of a dead girl whose very blood was the stuff of nightmares; and that Hugo Strange, the one that had altered all of their lives irreparably, had turned it into a weapon that would destroy Gotham from the inside out. But where there was a weapon, there were defenses. Where there was a poison, there was an antidote. They all knew that Hugo was a man that covered his own tail, and that his survival instinct rivaled even Oswald's. He would do anything in order to save his own skin, and Fish knew that meant he would work in secret to create an anti-virus.

To take back the power that had been wrest from Oswald's grasp, Fish reasoned, what better way than to obtain a substance that would become more valuable than gold? She knew where to find Strange, knew that he was now without allies to help him make a quick escape, and knew precisely how to get the information they needed. When she said the last bit, she clapped her hands; one of her men brought in a strange device. It was a piece of nasty looking headgear, almost a mask, attached to what appeared to be a small generator. When she brought it out, Victor felt his hand being squeezed tight, Oswald's small body pressed against his side. When he looked down, he saw that Oswald had blanched, a look of terror in his eyes.

“It's alright, boy... I know what he did to you. You'll have your revenge on him, and everyone else that crossed you in my absence.” Fish said, moving closer to him. Her stride was careful and she maintained eye contact, approaching the man like one would a spooked animal.

She took the hand that wasn't squeezing Victor's, placing the headpiece into his waiting palm. The noise that Oswald made ripped his heart in two; a soft whimper as he gripped the thing. Victor didn't know exactly what it was, but he had a good idea; it was an extremely archaic version of an electro-convulsive therapy device, used to administer measured shocks to the brain. From Oswald's reaction, he knew that it was as vicious as it appeared. He held his hand as Mooney reached out to grab his chin. The thought of Strange using that device on Oswald caused rage to begin to bubble up in his gut. He would take pleasure in tormenting the bastard in the way that had made Oswald so antsy. Revenge would be as sweet as honey.

“Calm down. It has no power over you, Oswald. It's only a machine.” She told him, forcing the man to look into her eyes. Oswald tried to look back down at it, only for Fish to jerk his head straight, “Didn't you hear me? It's just like a knife or a gun... it needs a master to work. **You** are its master, now. Not him.”

The tension began to drain from Oswald's grip as he nodded. With only a firm touch and a strongly worded statement, Fish had removed the power the device had over him. Victor couldn't help the smile that rose to his lips as she stepped back, a warmth that he had never seen in her blooming in her expression. There was a kindness to it, the way a mother would regard their child who had just done something that brought them pride. She looked to the rest.

“I'll need you three to help Oswald bring him to heel. That anti-virus will be a hot commodity; the city council will hand half of Gotham over to us to get it. And with Strange under our control, we'll have access to his... unique knowledge. People like us will be top dogs; the freaks.” Fish said.

“Won't everyone else be looking for the anti-virus too?” Ivy asked softly, expression concerned.

“Of course... once they think of it. They don't know Strange like most of us do, however. They'll all turn to other directions first. That's where our upper hand comes from. We know what they don't.” Fish informed her.

Ivy's concern melted, giving way to an excitable grin.

“Now, if you'll excuse us... Oswald and I have some catching up to do. Relax for now; tonight is going to be monumental.” Fish said.

Oswald's hand left his, following the woman as she turned to walk away. Victor watched until the two were fully out of sight before looking away. He couldn't help but feel the slightest bit worried about letting Oswald out of his sight when Fish was involved because he was aware of their shared past. Oswald's vulnerability frightened Victor, but he swallowed that fear because the other man had proven time and time again that he was capable. He wouldn't have gone with Mooney if he thought she was going to hurt him. Her appearance at the greenhouse must have soothed his worries that she would double cross him.

Victor moved to sit in one of the old pews that had yet to collapse from the rot that had worn out the thin sides that held them up. It was a strange thing, to be hiding out in an old church. He had never felt right being in a church in general despite the efforts of his parents when he was young. Catholicism was their poison of choice, and though they had made him go every week to go through the motions, he had still ended up a bitter teen atheist quoting Nietzsche at the dinner table to offend his “godly” father. His feelings towards religion had relaxed since then, mostly because Norman had been the spiritual sort.

Norman wasn't a church-goer; in fact, he hadn't been a fan of organized religion in any form. He did believe in an afterlife, though, and that there was some higher power. Victor could never take comfort in it the way his late lover did. He wanted to believe that Norman was somewhere worthy of him, somewhere beautiful and without pain, that he was waiting for Victor there... but Victor had always been a skeptic. Even now, with people resurrecting from the dead with almost the same speed as they were interred, he was unable to fathom some mystical afterlife where his lover waited for him. No matter how desperately he wanted it, the submission that such faith seemed to require was out of his depth.

The promise of eternal happiness seemed consistently out of reach when faced with the realities of life in Gotham.

He didn't know how much time passed as he sat slumped in the pew, contemplating the grandiose fantasies that the Church instilled in its believers, quietly wishing he were able to see life the way they did. He wondered, if there were an afterlife and Norman could truly see him, would he encourage him to love Oswald? Did he smile the first time Victor worked up the courage to hold him? Norman had been his best (and often only) friend; surely he would have. Perhaps he wouldn't agree with how Victor now lived his life, but he hoped his beloved husband would accept his actions if they made him happy.

“Penny for your thoughts?” Oswald's voice cut through the question-laden fog that had keep him dazed for however long.

“Oswald...” Victor turned his head to find that Oswald had slipped into the pew beside him. Immediately his body shifted to the side to view him better, a hand going to his cheek. His face was blotchy and pink, eyes a little bloodshot, as if he'd been weeping.

“Oswald, what's wrong? Did she do something to you?” Victor cupped his cheeks with both hands, pausing only to hurriedly remove his gloves. Oswald's smile was fond and peaceful, assuaging his worries (if only a little).

“No, not at all... We just... had a long conversation about a lot of things. A conversation that was two years overdue. And I'm – I'm happy.” When he said the last bit, he laughed, a tear streaming gently down his cheek, caught under the brush of Victor's thumb.

“You are?” Victor asked softly, curious as Oswald raised a hand to rest over one of his.

“We have a long history, and I suppose our... mutual traumas put things into perspective for us both. She expressed a lot of things I never expected to hear from her and it touched me in a way that I never anticipated. I always thought that our relationship would always be nothing but vitriol and malice, but... She said that she meant it when she said before that I was like a son to her. That she wants us to work together, to be a team... She was always more like a mother to me, even if I was basically her servant for years. She taught me so much, and now that I know she respects me, I'm just... I'm so happy. I haven't felt this happy in a long time.” His voice was trembling and his face was alight with joy.

He was beautiful.

Victor smiled in return, leaning down to place a soft kiss to his forehead. The man had lost so much that to see the sparkle in his eyes was something that made his heart soar. Oswald gave a soft giggle at the kiss to his forehead, looking up at Victor.

“What was that for?” He asked.

“I like seeing you happy. When you smile your eyes are even more beautiful.” Victor said it plainly. Oswald's eyes widened, but he didn't pull away.

“I – I -” Oswald stammered, drawing a bit of his lower lip into his mouth to chew it the way Victor had learned he did when he was overwhelmed.

“I'm sorry – was that too much?” Victor asked softly, worried that he was pushing.

“No! No, not at all – I just...” Oswald blinked quickly, shaking his head as Victor withdrew his hands.

“Has no one ever told you that?” Victor guessed. The color rising to Oswald's cheeks told a story his words couldn't quite manage. “Oh, Oswald... You might have to get used to it. I can be very affectionate.”

“Really?” Oswald glanced up at him through thick lashes. It was alluring, though Oswald likely didn't intend for it to be... Nor did Victor expect the way the look made something deep in his belly stir. He held back his frown at his own physical responses, keeping himself focused on Oswald. Oswald, who found trusting others to be nigh-impossible, but was showing trust by merely allowing Victor in his personal bubble.

“I can, yes. If you do decide I'm trustworthy enough... I'm like a dog.” He chuckled a little. Oswald laughed, head tilting to the side.

“A dog? I would have pegged you more as a polar bear.” Oswald mused.

“Mm, no no. Definitely a dog.” Victor protested.

“Why not a bear?” Oswald said.

“Penguins and polar bears live on opposite poles. We would have never met! Dogs, however... you can find them most places,” Victor chuckled, “and they're loyal and protective.”

“Fine, you're my big blue puppy then.” Oswald snickered, hands finding Victor's again, holding them.

“Good.” Victor gave a short nod, smirking down at him.

“... Your hands are warm.” Oswald said it in a curious way, thin fingers sliding over the back of one of his hands, tracing his digits.

“I warm up easily.” He said, watching the way Oswald regarded his ungloved skin.

“It doesn't hurt you, that your hands are warm? I thought you couldn't survive warmth...” He sounded the mildest bit worried as he glanced up at him again.

“No... As long as my core remains the proper temperature, I can tolerate my hands being warm. My arms and legs could be exposed and it wouldn't hurt me, so long as I still had my torso covered by the suit. I still don't understand my own physiology, honestly. Once this is all over, if I can't find a cure... I hope I can at least find a way to regulate it better. It's such a significant weakness.” Victor frowned a little.

“You'll find it. I'll give you everything you need, so long as you stay with me.” Oswald brought the hand that he held to his lips, giving it the most gentle little kiss. Victor drew in a deep breath at the unexpected affection, resisting the urge to lunge forward to kiss him properly. He kept himself the picture of restraint, watching him with a pleased grin.

“I'm not going anywhere unless you're with me, Oswald.” He said, hoping his sincerity resonated with the smaller man.

“Victor...” Oswald murmured in that soft, breathy way that made Victor's heart flutter almost uncomfortably.

“I mean it. I'm yours.” Victor told him.

Oswald went silent, bringing his hands up to touch awkwardly at Victor's shoulders, shifting to sit up a bit. He moved in, bringing a hand to Victor's cheek, lower lip trembling as he cupped his chilled flesh. Victor watched as Oswald seemed to fight with himself internally, racing emotions shown in the minute twitching of his facial features and the way his eyes studied the other man. Every bit of the grief that Oswald had suffered that had hardened his heart, every pain that centered in the thick bullet-scar in his chest, every bit of uncertainty the man had towards Victor and others in general; he could see them battling for purchase with everything good and hopeful in him.

Something flickered in his eyes then, something defiant and determined. It was as if a switch was flipped inside him.

Oswald drew in a deep breath, and then his lips were on Victor's, arms slinking around his shoulders as he sat up on his knees to negate their height difference. His mouth was hot and his lips were unbelievably soft, and for a moment Victor worried that the chill that surrounded him would discourage Oswald. He pushed the worry down and away, the feeling of Oswald's arms around his shoulders an anchor to keep him centered. Victor's fingers slid around his waist and the back of his neck, holding him, allowing Oswald to lead. The smaller man was chaste and gentle, giving the impression that he was exceptionally inexperienced for his age... but that only endeared him to Victor more. Despite the restrained nature of their kiss, it was electric; he could hear Oswald's breath hitch in his throat. He could hear his own heart slamming in his rib-cage.

It felt _right_ the way Oswald pressed his chest to him even if he couldn't quite feel it though his thick armor. It felt right when Oswald broke away only a moment to catch his breath before returning to the kiss, his thumb stroking Victor's cheek tenderly all the way throughout. Cliche as it was, the world faded around them, Victor's senses honing in on Oswald; the way he breathed, the little noises that came from a place deep in his throat, the way he leaned into him with trembling hands. It was almost overwhelming, the feeling thick and heady, blanketing his senses in heated, rapidly mounting pleasure.

When Oswald broke away a second time, his body slumped against him, head resting against the thick collar of his suit. The billowing vapor rolled over his face, cooling his warmed cheeks as his eyes slipped shut. He was practically on Victor's lap, still holding on to him as Victor, too, tried to catch his breath.

“I... I'm sorry.” Oswald whispered.

Victor frowned, glancing to him from the corners of his eyes.

“What are you apologizing for?” He asked.

“I'm not very good at... that. Or anything like this. All of my attempts at romance in the past – well, my one attempt, really... It's all been bad.” Oswald gave a soft sigh, the exhale of breath pushing through the fog of Victor's suit. Victor chuckled, shaking his head.

“No need to apologize for that, Oswald.... I think you're doing wonderfully.” Victor grinned.

“I don't know what came over me.” Oswald muttered, sitting up a little to look at him.

“Mutual attraction and curiosity?” Victor suggested.

“... Curiosity?” Oswald blinked.

“Maybe you wanted to see if your lips would stick to mine, like getting stuck to an ice cube.” Victor grinned.

Oswald slapped his armored chest, cheeks going pink as he gave an awkward laugh.

“Don't be foolish.” Oswald said.

“Too late.” Victor returned.

Oswald went silent for a moment as he settled back down into the pew beside him. Victor put an arm around his shoulders, allowing the silence to permeate for just a little while. Life was often unnecessarily loud for the two of them, and Victor took comfort in the brief reprieve from the noise.

“... Do you still think you can be patient with me? Even after we've shared a kiss?” Oswald mumbled, not looking at him.

“Of course, Oswald. Even now.” Victor reassured him.

He would give Oswald all the time he needed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Now we're over 30k words and I've only now had them kiss.
> 
> Slow burn for days. :D


	13. His Sacrifice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> With Strange at their mercy, the family continues their stride towards control of Gotham.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're rounding the corner to the end of this fic folks... I hope you're all still hanging on with me. <3

“It was mental torture. He did everything in his power to break me, and he succeeded. Every bit of weakness I have, he found out about and used against me. I don't know how he did it, but he seemed to be able to figure out my fears and worries and – I don't know if he programmed them into the thing, or if he was somehow able to use my own mind against me... I saw terrible things. My – my mother's death, at my own hands even. I would see it over and over again, and the whole time this... this _thing_ would be on me, and all the pain I felt in my heart... it was like it turned into physical pain. I've been shot in the chest, I've been crippled, I've been beaten senseless more times than I can count, but what that man did to me? He's the only one I would wish it on.” Oswald relayed the story of his torture to his little family as he drove. Victor watched as the muscles in his jaw clenched tight every time a pause occurred in his train of thought.

He felt his own jaw clench vice-tight, so hard that pain slowly began to thrum in his temples. He found himself unable to stop long enough to stop the headache that grew; he had relayed his own story first, then Bridgit hers. When they had fought, what seemed like ages ago, they were both under that monsters sway. They would have killed one another for Strange and his cruel experiments without a second thought, but now it made him sick to think of. It had taken Oswald some time after hearing their stories to tell his own. Ivy had become emotional several times during their drive, but when Oswald's words trailed off, she let loose a pained sob, covering her face with her hands. She fell against Firefly, who put her arms around her immediately.

“I'm going to torch him, real slow. **Real** slow.” Bridgit growled, rocking the younger girl in her arms.

“How could he be so horrible? Why do people have to be so... _bad_?” Ivy mumbled against her, forehead against her shoulder.

“That's why people like us have to stick together, right?” Bridgit mumbled, her anger clearly barely held back by her need to comfort the younger girl.

“He'll pay for what he did to you both.” Victor whispered a promise, so quiet that only Oswald heard.

“For what he did to all of us,” Oswald corrected softly, glancing at him briefly before giving the softest hint of a smirk, “I have to admit... vengeful Victor is a Victor I have yet to see. I'm a little excited.”

Though he could tell it was an attempt to lighten the mood, Victor's anger had already made a home within his chest, snaking around his frozen heart and gripping it tight. He forced a little smile, though, for Oswald's sake, fingers fidgeting at his side where his cryo-gun was holstered. He envisioned destroying Strange bit by bit, tearing him apart while he still lived, forcing him to confess his crimes against both Victor's family and nature itself. Fish had gone ahead and captured their resident mad scientist, delivering him to the manor now owned by Oswald as his father's only living heir. He couldn't help but think he was a gift from her to them to celebrate their partnership; she could easily have done this part herself.

Oswald's fingers slid around Victor's clenched left fist, a gentle attempt to hold his hand. So many times before Victor had been the one comforting the small man that it had almost seemed one-sided for a time. Victor relaxed his fist, allowed Oswald's long fingers to find their home nestled amongst his own. It was the smallest sentiment, but had an impact that struck deep. It meant that Oswald cared for his emotional state. It meant that it mattered to him that Victor was hurt and angered, enough so that he offered physical comfort even though he himself was often aloof. Warmth spread through his chest, tender and soft.

“We're almost there. Get ready.” Oswald said to the three.

Ivy's crying had subsided with Bridgit's help, though the girls still held one another. Victor smiled softly back at them.

“Ivy, would you prefer to stay in the car?” He asked, not bothering to hide his concern for her.

“No! I want to see him get what he deserves, even if I won't be much help.” She returned instantly. Oswald chuckled softly.

“That's fine with me. Once we get him to talk and give up the antidote, we're going straight to Fish... Then we get the antidote and put the pressure on the city council,” Oswald said, “... It'll be our time soon. No more lurking in the shadows, no more hiding. No more fear.”

As the car pulled to a stop, Oswald released Victor's hand and killed the engine. Inside the manor, Strange was waiting for them like a macabre Christmas present. Victor was the first to exit the car, bouncing on his heels a bit in anticipation. He couldn't stop the anger that had presented itself during Oswald and Bridgit's stories. Oswald's hand had only served to stem the flow of vitriol for a few moments. He waited for the others outside the car, though; they would do this as a family. Strange would be lucky to end his day above ground.

It was silent as they made their way though the manor save for the clicking and thumping of shoes and boots on hardwood floors. The place was eerie even with proper lighting; a good setting for revenge.

“She said he's going to be in the dining room, strapped to a chair... I'm going to the lounge. Bring him to me.” Oswald said. Victor's head tilted, brows furrowed curiously. When Oswald met his gaze, he smirked.

“I have to set the scene, don't I? What's torture without proper ambiance?” Oswald explained.

Victor almost laughed, shaking his head at the theatrical man. Though it was a bit morbid that his joy stemmed from the thought of torturing a man, Victor was pleased to see him so cheerful. The light in his gaze was brilliant to behold, and before he moved to complete his task, he paused briefly to lay a kiss to Oswald's forehead. Oswald frowned up at him, a hand coming to rest on his hip. Victor panicked inside at the reaction – did he suddenly hate the idea of affection when earlier that day they had shared a world-shattering kiss? Were all of his assumptions about Oswald wrong suddenly? Were -

“You missed.” Oswald remarked, pointing to his lips with his free hand.

All of Victor's internalized angst dissolved, so completely that it even erased a bit of the hate he felt towards Strange. There were so many nuances to Oswald's personality, so many little quirks that he had yet to discover, and nothing gave Victor more pleasure than stumbling across the good ones. Leaning down, he cupped his cheeks within his large hands and held his face to kiss him firmly. He wanted to rob Oswald of his breath with it, and did, the smaller man's hands going up to grip his shoulder as he gasped. Victor grinned into velvet lips, pleased with the way Oswald practically buckled under his kiss, overwhelmed by the feeling.

“Okay, I'm glad you two decided to commit, but we have a scientist to torture so could you save this for after?” Bridgit's tone was one of deadpan amusement. Behind her, Ivy was wide-eyed and barely containing her giggle behind a hand.

“Sorry, ladies. I'll leave you to it.” Oswald broke away, cheeks flush with color. He turned on his heel and walked stiffly towards the lounge, as embarrassed as Victor was proud. He was glad to be torn from Oswald at that moment, however. The more sure Victor became of his growing love for the man, the less willing he was to leave his side as a result, and there was too much work to be done to dally.

Victor looked to the girls and gave a nod, moving past them to the dining room. There, they found their quarry, bound with grim looking leather straps, a gag preventing him from yelling protest when Victor stood in front of him, pressing the barrel of his gun to his forehead. Ivy stayed back, watching in the doorway of the kitchen as Bridgit moved to Victor's side.

“Take out the cloth, it'll be better if we can hear him scream.” Bridgit suggested, a threat in her voice. Smirking, Victor yanked it out.

“I think he probably has too much pride to scream.” Victor mused.

“Please... Let me go. I have nothing you want!” Hugo plead with the two, squirming in his bindings. Victor shook his head, looking to Bridgit.

“See? That wasn't screaming. That was just disappointing.” He sighed. “Come on. Let's bring him out.”

Bridgit shook her head, and took one side of the chair. Together, they dragged the man to the opening of the lounge, where Oswald had started a fire in the short time they had been away. He didn't see the small gangster, but could feel his presence as they came into the vicinity. Once in place, Victor and Bridgit took a synchronized step back, watching the man fidget with anxiety in his seat.

“... I should cook him.” Bridgit said, her tone playful.

“Mm, they want him alive.” Victor reminded her, glancing at the girl, who swayed on her feet, eager to burn the man who had made their lives hell.

“So I'll just cook part of him.” Bridgit compromised.

“Oh, no, my dear... let's be calm.” Hugo said, the slow rumbling of his voice reigniting the anger that had fluttered out at Oswald's kiss.

“You don't have that kind of control.” Victor teased.

“And you do? In my hands, this flamethrower is a scalpel.” She said. Victor tilted his head ever so slightly, hoisting up his own gun.

“Fine. We both take a foot. Whoever goes above the ankle loses.” He answered.

“You're on.” She smirked, the whirring and revving of their guns filling the room with noise. Strange's eyes widened in horror as he realized neither were bluffing. The expression of panic was absolutely delicious.

“No... no, stop – Miss Mooney! Miss Mooney!” Strange's head darted to and fro, desperate to seek asylum with the woman who had brought him there in the first place.

“Mooney's busy! I'm here now...” Oswald's smooth voice called from behind them. He had turned in his seat, making for an adequately dramatic view when Victor and Bridgit stepped away from one another. “Also, I think your children are angry with you.”

“Mister Cobblepot...” Strange seemed almost relieved to see Oswald. For a man as brilliant as he was, Strange lacked the common sense to realize that nothing would help him.

“It's understandable... You made them what they are... Then abandoned them.” Oswald spoke as he moved between the two.

“You are... working, with Miss Mooney?” Strange asked, his demeanor now eerily calm.

“We're partners.” Oswald said, proud.

“But you tried to kill her.”

“And she forgave me!” Oswald put his hands up for a moment, an expression of delight on his face. “I know, surprised me too. But – Mooney is not the old Mooney. She has _evolved_. And she has a vision for Gotham... She sees a city where people like myself... Victor... Bridgit... _Freaks_ are in charge. And you're going to help us achieve that!”

Oswald seemed ten feet tall as he spoke, each word delivered with smooth purpose. Victor shifted in his spot, pride welling in his chest. Oswald was a force to be reckoned with, for sure. How people continued to underestimate the man was beyond his comprehension. He was an Emperor, and Gotham was his realm. No matter how many times he was crushed, he rose again, a breathtaking picture of resilience. Victor knew he could be delicate, tender, fragile, even timid at times... but to see him now cemented in his mind that Oswald was a masterwork of tenacity and unflappable power.

“I can't...” Strange said, shaking his head slowly. The defiance was met with immediate pushback.

“Wrong, Professor! This virus is tearing Gotham apart! And that makes your antidote the most valuable thing in the city. We could demand half of Gotham and the city council would deliver it to us on a platter. So, I'm going to ask you once,” Oswald said, pacing back and forth a little before he stopped again between his elemental guardians, “Where is it?”

“If I tell you where the antidote is, I have nothing. I can't. You can torture me all you want.” Strange chuckled. Victor raised his brows, wondering how a person could be so foolish. Did he know nothing of Oswald's reputation? Did he not realize how effective Oswald was when he wanted something? Oswald scoffed, tossing his hands up again and looking between Victor and Bridgit.

“Okay!” He looked to Victor, tapping on his armor lightly and shaking his head. “You know, in Arkham, I was tortured daily...”

“That was therapy, Oswald... therapy.” Hugo's smile was that of a shark's, but Oswald was unbothered as he moved to him.

“That device you used to administer the 'therapy'... Remember that? It gave the sensation that your head was being torn open so that hot lava could be poured directly into your brain. Afterwords, just thinking about it would make me physically ill.” Oswald pantomimed his words, and with a flourish, unveiled the machine, “So naturally, I had to have it!”

Victor moved forward, Strange's struggling crushed with a firm hand to the chest. Oswald slammed the device down on to the wretched man's head, laughing all the while.

“No, no! Alright, I'll tell you anything you need to know! I'll tell you where the antidote is!” Strange practically wept, desperate at the prospect of actual torture being used on him.

“I know... but not just yet. Kay?” Oswald growled into the man's ear, possessed by the demon of vengeance.

Strange's wailing when the switch was flipped was jarring but intensely satisfying to the three. Victor watched the machine work, the grotesque twisting of Hugo's body causing his eyes to stray to Oswald. He had endured that thing? How many times was he forced into the 'therapy' that thing provided? How long was he forced to suffer? Victor's eyes narrowed as he watched the device work its grisly magic. It was horrifying, but ever so satisfying.

Oswald stood at his side, watching with a blank expression, lip twitching every so often at Hugo's cries. Only when his cries turned to glutteral sobs did Oswald sigh and move back to the table, switching off the machine.

“Coward. That was half the time of the sessions you would put me though in Arkham!” He said, slapping the sputtering man's cheek in irritation.

“Please, no more. I'll bring you to the antidote, just – please, never again!” Hugo plead, arms jerking in his binding still.

“I'll call Fish.” Ivy mumbled from where she stood.

Soon, Victor and the others were joined by Mooney, and they were in transit to the warehouse which held Strange's hidden lab, minus Ivy, who elected to remain in the manor and await their return. The ride was a quiet one, the air between the family buzzing with electric anticipation. The antidote would be the fruition of their efforts. It was the thing that would gain them the status that Oswald and Fish sought, the security that Ivy and Bridgit needed, and the resources that Victor required to seek out a cure to his condition. With his own cure, Victor could truly be the man that Oswald deserved; loyal, steadfast, and able to actually hold him without a barrier protecting them both. He could cast aside the frozen shell that had coated him down to the soul when he lost Norman to that nameless disease that had nearly claimed Victor as collateral.

A thought brought a lump to his throat, and he tensed visibly; so much so that Oswald noticed instantly.

“Victor?” Oswald said softly as the van pulled to a stop at the docks.

“I... I don't know if they buried him.” Victor whispered. After his death, everything he knew was gone. Norman had crumbled into pieces before his eyes, and his world had stopped turning. When he woke in Strange's laboratory, everything was different. He never stopped to consider if his lost love was given the proper rites.

“Norman?” Oswald said, voice gentle.

“I never went back to see if... if they buried him. I don't know where he is.” Victor stared straight ahead. Oswald shifted to look at him, sympathy overflowing in his features.

“Once this is over... we'll find him. If he isn't buried, we'll do it together. Properly. We'll honor him the way he should be honored.” Oswald said, voice firm. There was a reassuring conviction in his voice that brought a little smile to Victor's lips.

“Thank you, Oswald. I wish you could have met him.” Victor said.

“I do as well. I wish he could have known our parents... I'm sure he would have loved them.” Oswald said, sighing lightly, “Come. Let's get this antidote. The sooner we do this, the sooner we can find him.”

With a little nod, Victor exited the car. He took a deep breath of the swirling fog around his neck, steeling himself, trying to dash away the sentimental thoughts that threatened to dominate his mind. He needed to keep a clear head just in case anything went south. Gotham tended to throw surprises at them whenever it was able. The City was a living, breathing, malicious beast. It was up to Victor's new family to tame it.

The warehouse was dark and cold enough that Victor would have been able to comfortably move around without the aid of his suit. There was a distinct smell; rotten meat gone cold, freezer-burnt. A storage facility for a butcher, most likely, and a front for any combination of illegal and illicit activity. Not like most cops would go looking in the warehouse district anyway; most were paid to neglect the area on their patrols, and the ones who did patrol tended to never “see” anything.

“You two wait here.” Fish said to her bodyguards, who obediently shifted to the side, allowing the others to move past.

“Professor, if this is a trap, you will soon find yourself hanging with the rest of the meat.” Oswald threatened Hugo.

“It's no trap. I tested earlier versions of the virus and the antidote on livestock. I made sure to set aside a successful batch.” Hugo remarked, leading them through a frigid hole in the wall.

“This place gives me the creeps.” Bridgit mumbled, off-put by the chill.

“I like it.” Victor told her.

They were led to a door which hid behind it a laboratory. Victor made note of the place; perhaps it would be a good place to do his own experimentation once this was over and he had the funds to do so. He would prefer to stay close to Oswald, but it would do in a pinch and was already climate controlled so he could shed his bulky suit. There were some supplies on the shelves still, several useful machines scattered about. There was even a decently sized centrifuge. He wondered how well it held up to the cold...

“... rule this city. Together.” Fish was speaking to Oswald with enough conviction to draw his attention back to reality.

“Yes... But first, I have to kill Ed Nygma. He _has_ to die.” Oswald told her.

“Oh, he will. And all those who try to stand in our way.” Fish said.

The look on Oswald's face said more than any words could. He regarded Mooney the way a child does their mother, with the sort of awe-struck wonder one regards a hero. Victor couldn't help but smile. Their reunion had meant the world to Oswald, and he was stronger for it. Victor would never meet Oswald's parents, but at least he knew Fish, his terrifying murder-matron whose very presence could bring a man to his knees. That was enough for him.

He placed a hand briefly on Oswald's shoulder. Oswald covered his with his own, smiling fondly at the taller man before following Mooney out of the lab.

Outside of the frigid laboratory, her bodyguards lay dead. The room was silent, save for Fish, who demanded the culprits show themselves. Victor moved to her side, brows furrowing as he scanned the room. The group gave a collective start as black-clad men suddenly began to appear from behind boxes, or rappelling down from the rafters above. There had to be ten of them, easily, and each drew a sword and approached in unison.

“Really? That's all you've got?” Fish asked, her reaction nothing more than mild irritation. Victor continued to be impressed by the woman; she was positively immovable.

“Hand over the antidote. Now!” The leader of the pack said, sword outstretched in a manner that Victor assumed was meant to be threatening. Fish's nonchalant attitude seemed to have spread to Victor, though he was on guard. They were outnumbered. Not one to be threatened, Mooney gestured for Victor and Bridgit; moving forward, the two hoisted their guns and began to fire.

Though the men were acrobatic, their movements were predictable, a pattern of dexterous avoidance making itself clear as they attempted to approach without being blasted. One went down in mid-air, frozen solid and crashing to the floor. Another was lit up by Firefly's flames, flailing and panicking to put himself out. Victor's icy stream began to falter the more he shot. It wasn't meant for continued use and would need to be recharged with a cartridge soon. Adrenaline fired through him as another of Fish's guards was felled, melding with a brief panic; there were so many of them, and with his gun running out of juice he would have to resort to fists and feet, maybe even one of the swords dropped by a felled ninja.

From the front of the warehouse Victor caught sight of two men. He recognized them instantly; Jim and Harvey, two meddlesome cops who always managed to be in the middle of everything. Jim had a crazed look in his eyes as he dove into the fray. Victor watched as he took out one after another. Something was wrong with him, something intense in his eyes, an unnatural strength in his movements. He _threw_ their assailants, broke bones with ease.

The virus.

His terrifying strength would make short work of Victor's family if he were allowed through. Victor made the split second decision; he was the only one armored. He was the only one who would stand a chance against such brute strength, and with his cryo-gun completely tapped, the only choice he had was to put himself in the way. He took hold of Fish's furred collar as Jim brutally gutted one of the masked men, and as he withdrew the sword and drove it through the body of another, Victor threw Mooney back and away.

Within that split second, Jim threw his hand back, a newly unsheathed dagger glinting in the low light of the warehouse.

Within that split second, a violent burst of pain crackled through Victor's abdomen as the blade slammed into his gut. The pain was intense, blinding, and the world began to go pale. The viral strength that coursed through Gordon's veins had pushed the blade much further than it should have. The armor should have blunted the blow; it hadn't hit the plates, but the rest of his suit was meant to withstand such assaults.

He drew in a gasp as Jim ripped the blade out. The noise was strange and loud, reverberating in Victor's ears. He could feel himself tearing, he could hear the dagger pulling his flesh apart even as it left his body. Victor felt the power sapping from his body, as if the blade had pulled a plug from somewhere deep inside him. He was vaguely aware of some screaming as he dropped to his knees, and then to his side.

“Victor!” It was Oswald. Long fingers cradled his head as he fell back into his arms.

“Oswald...” He mumbled. The pain was jarring, and with each breath in it felt like he was drowning.

“Victor, it's – it's okay, we can get you some help – you're gonna be okay!” Oswald told him, hand on his cheek for a brief moment. The touch lingered even as he moved it to press on Victor's wound in an effort to stop the bleeding.

“Shh, shh... Don't worry over me.” Victor mumbled, closing his eyes briefly.

“Don't you dare leave me Victor. I can't do it, I can't lose you, I can't!” Oswald sobbed, rocking him desperately. His eyes opened to watch him for a moment.

“We'll make it through this... Please don't worry. I know you're scared, Ozzie, but we'll make it through.” Victor whispered, finding himself repeating words spoken to him what seemed like a thousand years ago. Tears streamed down Oswald's cheeks, a sight that wounded him almost as much as the knife wound in his torso. He brought a weak hand to his cheek, holding it.

“Victor please, please don't leave me. I _need_ you Victor, I need you!” Oswald plead.

“I love you, Oswald. No matter what...” Victor mumbled as his vision clouded, blackness creeping in.

“Victor!” Oswald's voice, his face, his touch was all Victor could feel as unconsciousness overtook him.

“Please...”


	14. Their Shared Peace

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the end, guys. For those of you who stuck with me, or those of you who are just reading this now... Thank you. I'm happy to be able to contribute to our little ship, and I hope you enjoy/enjoyed reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it.
> 
> Feel free to subscribe to my works; I may add on to this someday, or maybe throw in some "deleted scenes". Thanks again!

_Victor was floating in an endless sea of warmth. It was a thin, viscous gel rather than water, though his hands passed through as easily as if it was. The lights in the sky were mystifying, swirling shades of purple, blue, green and gold. He could see no stars, but had no desire to; the colors in his sky were brilliant enough without them. Here, there was no pain, only the beauty of the space above. It was like a hundred nebulae dancing in unison, twisting and turning to create shapes and hues no man had ever seen. Tears streamed down Victor's cheeks, the majesty of it overwhelming. He was witnessing the birth and deaths of a thousand galaxies._

_Within the center of his sight, a shape began to form, solidifying into jointed tendrils that seemed to reach out. The tendrils came together, an ethereal hand that stretched towards him. He felt a pull towards it, a feeling like home; the creature was safe, a being of love and light. Blue and white wisps cascaded along the hand that stretched into an arm, and Victor felt himself compelled to reach towards it. Was it an angel? Was this some afterlife? He couldn't remember anything. He felt as if he had always been there, and that the thing that reached out from the brilliant, roiling space was something he had been searching for the his entire life._

_But the more Victor reached, the further away the being seemed to be, and the deeper his desire to be held in its arms, to hold it to him and be turned to ash by its splendor. He was trapped there in the sea, never to touch the angel whose eyes had become clear as he watched. The lights had been beautiful, but the sight of those eyes rendered him unable to breathe, tears clouding his vision. They were pale and green, flecked with shades of copper and gold, immeasurable in depth. He sobbed as he stretched towards the creature, desperate to reach it, to be wrapped up in its warmth and comfort._

_Below him, in the endless depths, there was movement. It was soft at first, the gentle sway of a previously still ocean, but soon grew in power. It shifted into waves to which Victor was the epicenter. Was there something coming from him from beneath? He did not fear it. He was curious, the newness of the feeling causing him to falter in his quest to reach the space creature. It was as if a leviathan had been lurking beneath, watching his movements, but was now planning to breach. Would it swallow him whole? Or was it a friendly giant?_

_The water rushed around him, and a strange sensation overcame his body. He felt himself being surrounded by the warmth of it, where before he was laying atop it. He was pushed up as he reached for the being in the sky – or was he being carried? The water around him seemed to hold him close as it moved him closer to his angel in the sky... The warmth was soothing, and as Victor dared to glance away from space for a moment he saw what held him. It was another being, its arms an ever-flowing font of translucent water that seemed to sparkle and reflect the radiance of the lights above. The body held him close, enveloping him in protective warmth as they breached the heavens._

_Soon, he was between the two creatures, his beings of eternal light. Neither fought for purchase; each seemed content to hold Victor between them, locked in everlasting peace._

_And nothing had ever felt so perfect._

–

The pain that bloomed in his abdomen as he woke was intense, throbbing, but ultimately tolerable. The blinding nature of the light troubled him far more than the pain as he reached up to cover his face with an arm, groaning. His arm was bare; a careful glance at his body showed he had been stripped of his armor. On his stomach was a grisly wound, stitched shut, bruised deep blue and purple around the edges. The room he was in was unfamiliar but rather ordinary, save for the frigid air that kept his temperature at the appropriate level. It looked almost like a room out of a bed-and-breakfast, styled in an old-fashioned and comfortable manner.

He shifted, stiffness in his joints making sitting up a difficult task in itself. Giving a groan, he fell back to the pillow, which was soft and downy, bearing a particularly familiar scent.

“Victor! You're awake!” An excited voice squeaked out. Victor, still bleary-eyed, glanced over.

It was Ivy, clad in the same garb he had first met her in, her eyes glassy with tears. She ran to his bedside, putting gloved hands on his shoulders.

“Stay, don't try to sit up just yet!” She said, finality in her tone.

“Where am I? What happened? Are they – is everyone okay?” Victor asked, his voice husky, as if it had been weeks since he used it.

“You're in the manor... A lot happened. Everyone is – everyone is great. What you did for Mooney... It gave them the chance they needed.” Ivy brought a hand to his face, voice laden with pride and pain.

“How long have I been unconscious?” He asked.

“About a day and a half.” She smoothed his hair back, smiling.

“Victor! Ivy, I told you to get me _at once_ if he woke!” Another voice came.

He heard his steps before he saw him, the hurried, nearly panicked thump-drag of his walk. Oswald. Tears already streamed down his cheeks as he moved to the bed. There was no gentleness, no quiet ceremony to greet Victor back to the realm of the living. Oswald sobbed, crawling into the bed beside him, arms clinging tight to his torso and shoulders, body pressed to his side as he wept in relief. Victor brought his arms up to hold him as best he could, brushing the messy stream of tears away. It only redirected the flow, so Victor leaned up to kiss his clenched-shut eyelids instead.

“Don't yell at her, I just woke up.” Victor admonished softly, before Ivy had time to give a protest of her own.

“I'm sorry – I've just been so frazzled, so worried, I... I was scared I had lost you and that, that...” Oswald stumbled over his words, clinging tighter to his arms. He avoided the area of Victor's wound, but Ivy still looked on them worriedly, making sure none of Oswald's body strayed too close to it.

“Shh, shh. I'm fine. Both of us are hard to kill.” Victor smiled, trying to soothe his worries.

It was a fear he knew intimately. When someone you cared for was hurt, it dominated your thoughts, snaking its way into every waking moment (and often, into nightmares). During Norman's illness, Victor had only left the house when absolutely necessary, terrified that his absence would somehow doom his delicate husband. Stroking Oswald's hair, he did everything he could without words to soothe that ache. Sliding his hand down his jawline, Victor looked down at him and began to gently touch each of the freckles that dusted his face, counting them off in his mind.

“... Why are you poking my face?” Oswald mumbled, puzzled by the action. His tactic was sound; he had confused him enough that the tears had ceased. Comfort via perplexity was something he excelled at.

“I'm counting your freckles.” Victor returned coolly, continuing his count. He was at fifteen.

“Should I ask why?” Oswald asked, watching his face.

“So I can memorize them. If I ever go blind, I want to remember everything about your face. I've always been a tactile learner.” Victor smiled. His own pain was secondary to his need to comfort him.

“Victor...” Oswald's eyes went a little wide, pulling closer to kiss him. It was chaste, gentle, and spoke of the relief Oswald felt that Victor had woken up. When Victor broke the kiss, he followed it up with another placed on his lover's cheek.

“I'm sorry to have worried you, Oswald. I thought that my armor would at least dull the blow, but the virus-” Victor found his words cut short by Oswald's lips, effectively silencing him.

“Victor, what you did for Fish... What you did for _us_ ; I've never seen such a selfless act. Sure, I've ordered men to protect me, I've had people take blows for me many times, but you did it without a _thought_ , without motive. I – I don't know what would have happened if she had been the one hit. It would have killed her, I think, and I don't know how many times a person can be brought back from beyond.” Oswald seemed to be having trouble piecing together his sentiment, not unlike Victor often was when it came to him. New love often left one tongue-tied, even in the most meaningful moments.

“I'll always do anything within my power to protect you and the ones you love, Oswald.” Victor reassured him.

“I – I know. I believe you now. I... I trust you now, Victor.” It almost seemed to physically pain Oswald to say the words; his trust had been violated so many times before.

“I'll keep doing what I can to keep that trust.” Victor found his own response to be a little lame, but it made the other man smile, and that was all that mattered.

“I know you will. If you hadn't done what you did, I get the feeling that it would have gone... very poorly.” Oswald sighed.

“So everything went well? Do we own Gotham?” Victor smiled as Oswald laid his head on the pillow beside him, no longer clinging quite so hard.

“Nothing is ever that simple, unfortunately; but we're in good shape. After you... fell, Fish was able to take control of both Jim and Harvey. That power of hers is remarkable and terrifying. I've told her formally she isn't allowed to use it anymore for a while, though; it drains her terribly. I need her to be in top shape. I've tried ruling Gotham alone before, and it's just too much, and I won't have her leaving me again. We brought you here for Ivy to attend to. She's the only reason I'm alive, so I... trusted her to care for you. She did so well.” Oswald looked over to the girl, who had yet to leave the room. A proud smile crossed her lips when Victor glanced over.

“Barbara, Tabitha, Butch and Ed tried to get the antidote but we had them outmatched... We fought them off, and since last night Fish has been in negotiations with the city council. I came back after we got away to help Ivy attend to you. I'm thankful for this condition of yours... I don't think someone with run of the mill internals would have fared as well. Bridgit is still with Fish; she got her own revenge on Butch. Had to keep her from burning Jim alive for what he did to you, though.” Oswald said, chuckling. He looked just as proud when he mentioned Bridgit's vengeance.

“Did you get your revenge?” Victor asked.

“I did shoot him in the leg, but that was entirely coincidental. Revenge... doesn't matter to me anymore.” Oswald said, voice soft. Victor blinked, shifting a little to observe his face better.

“It's what you've been after since we met... Since before we met.” Victor said.

“And when I saw you throw Fish out of the way and take a knife for her, it stopped mattering. You knew how much she meant to me, don't you? You knew and you protected her. I know you couldn't have trusted her motives before, but you saw that she... that she's like a mother to me, and so you put your life at risk so I wouldn't lose another one.” Oswald said it softly; he was making assumptions, but they were all correct.

“You've lost too much.” Victor mumbled, voice just as soft.

“You're too good for me, Victor. You're kind, and strong, and selfless, and I did nothing to deserve your love. I've spent this whole time clamoring for revenge, chomping at the bit to kill a man that I thought was my one great love. I've been volatile and I've ignored you. I've openly told you I didn't trust you when you did everything you could to prove you were honest and true.” Oswald's voice broke on his words, an inner self-loathing seeping to the surface.

“Oswald, stop it.” Victor shifted to lay fully on his side in order to clutch his face within his hands, “I understand.”

“I... I don't know how.” Oswald whispered.

“Nothing brings people together like pain does. I know what it is to hurt the way you do. I know what it is to feel as if everything is lost. I know what it is to be... angry at _everything_ because the universe can be so cruel. Every word I've said to you about the way I feel has been true. I love you, Oswald, and it isn't because of your connection to Norman. I love you because you've made me feel again. You've helped me out of my own head. You gave me a purpose again... you've helped me accept that he's gone, but that I was lucky to have him when I did. Someone once told me that our meeting may have been fated, and that Norman wouldn't have wanted me to be sad all the time.” He smiled softly, knowing that Ivy was still in the room. “And I know it now to be true.”

“I – I don't know that I'm worthy of the way you feel, Victor. I – I try to--” Oswald began again, despair beginning to override his thoughts. Victor dashed them away with a kiss, firm and breathtaking. Oswald's lips trembled against his, responding in a way that was almost submissive.

“Do you care about me, Oswald?” Victor said against his lips.

“I love you.” Oswald gasped into him, shaking hands raising to hold his.

“Then that's all that matters. I love you, too.” Victor slid his arms around the smaller man; Oswald followed the motion.

And as the two embraced, their opposite temperatures didn't seem as extreme. The chill of Victor's touch and the heat of Oswald's body seemed to meld into a middle ground that radiated comfort and safety. No matter what might happen in the days to follow, they would weather it together. As a beautiful silence fell over the room, Victor swore he could feel a warmth surrounding him from behind. It was a wisp of a feeling, like the lingering touch of a lover, gone as quickly as it came. He held Oswald tighter as a long sought feeling of peace bloomed from somewhere deep inside his once-frozen heart.


End file.
